The Only Game in Town
by permanentlyExhaustedPigeon
Summary: It's three years since Zyan became a Crystal Singer, and life should be sweet: except something is just not right. He soon finds himself ordered off-planet, embroiled in an FSP intelligence operation gone badly wrong, and facing unknown threats. (Sequel to 'The Recruit', also on FFN).
1. Chapter 1

_Please note: this is the sequel to 'The Recruit', also on FanFiction._

\- o O o -

"Happy Locust Day, Zy!" Jolinda said, placing a brown bottle on the table in front of Zyan. Zyan wasn't really feeling it – he hadn't been for a while.

No point in being a shard about it, though. He looked up, and painted a polite smile on his face. "Thanks Jo. You too. New batch?"

Jolinda nodded. "It's an IPA."

"Eypey ale?" Zyan asked, frowning. Jolinda, amongst other things, was a home brewing enthusiast and liked to dig into ancient history for inspiration, to the extent that the half of her quarters that wasn't taken up with brewing equipment was taken up by various automated hydroponic experiments intended to recreate long-forgotten ingredients. Many crystal singers had hobbies – Jolinda had a production line.

"I – P – A," Jolinda explained. "India pale ale. Pre-space travel, pre-industrial recipe. Very hoppy."

"Hunh," Zyan said, sniffed the bottle and took a sip. "Wow, yeah. Tastes kinda like Yarran but also smells like intilla flowers. It's really good, thanks Jo."

"You're welcome," Jolinda said. "Why don't you leave it there for a moment and come and dance with me?"

"Wouldn't want to make Dane jealous, Jo," Zyan answered.

Jolinda pointed to where her hawk-faced partner was currently embarrassing himself at the centre of a group of Locusts who were bopping around the improvised dance floor of the Eye of the Storm restaurant with varying degrees of rhythm. "No danger of that, you'll be dancing with him too. For which apologies."

"Maybe later," Zyan shook his head.

"Okay, fine – for now," Jolinda said. "But as soon as you've finished that beer I insist that you join us on the dancefloor without delay. You need to have some _fun_, Zyan."

Zyan promised faithfully, even though he had little enthusiasm for dancing. Jolinda was worried about him, which was nice of her, and as the sort-of-leader that the Locusts definitely did _not_ have he didn't want to be overly grumpy, especially when Jolinda was several decades his senior in terms of both experience and age, even though she looked young enough to be his sister.

The 'Locusts', as Zyan's oversized partnership were officially known, were only three years old and twenty seven members strong, but they already had a few traditions – one of which was throwing a party every year on the anniversary of their legal-but-not-entirely-authorised-until-a-bit-later formation. Well, they _aimed_ for the anniversary – in practice this had turned out to be the nearest available day when at least most of the members weren't in the ranges, and a mach storm would usually oblige within a two-week window.

Three years ago they had comprised only the thirteen members of class 1999 – now the founder members were in the minority. Their first extra recruit had been the morally ambiguous (but intelligent, skilled and undeniably charming, when she wanted to be) ex-vid actress Schecherzia Alar – Jolinda and Dane had been the next two, and since then a smattering of other singers had either asked to join or had been approached by existing members. Some were established singers, others were recent recruits or even outright newcomers.

One of the outright newcomers approached him as Jolinda returned to the dancefloor. When Zyan had first met her she'd been a Chalician revolutionary, a pale, capable girl called Juliet with black hair and an almost disturbingly single-minded approach to problem-solving which verged on ruthlessness - almost the first thing she'd done was stab him in the arm, as a test of crystal singer healing abilities. These were the things Zyan thought he knew about her – it turned out he had a pretty incomplete picture.

First of all, she had perfect pitch. She'd surprised him with a message from the infirmary last year after experiencing an almost effortless Milekey transition - it was said, only half-jokingly, that the symbiont wouldn't have dared to give her anything but a perfect adaptation for fear of what revenge she would exact upon it if not. She informed him she would be joining the Locusts (she'd hadn't precisely _asked_, but the decision was an unanimous yes anyway - she had, after all, been instrumental in resolving a serious problem for the Guild and pulled Zyan's behind out of the fire a couple of times into the bargain).

When she signed her contract it'd been apparent her appearance on Chalice had been a disguise. She was tanned and not pale, turned out to have very bright ginger hair, and was called Shara and not Juliet (which to be fair Zyan already knew, thanks to an overly-informative erstwhile associate of hers).

Two things _hadn't_ changed – Shara had a streetfighter's attitude and carriage packed into a misleadingly diminutive figure, and the symbiont had added increased muscle density into the bargain. Aviczue, another Locust, was proficient in three martial arts disciplines and had benefited from the same symbiotic adaptation that made her stronger, but Shara, who had been trained only by necessity, won as many bouts with her as she lost.

The other was that her direct approach to life had apparently been set in quadruple-strength plascrete for all time. She demonstrated it now – Shara placed four glasses of spirits on the table, sat down beside Zyan without being asked and downed one.

"You're lagging behind," she said. "Chalician rum – my festering shardhole of a home system's second best export. Drink."

"Yes ma'am," Zyan said, and dutifully downed a rum, suppressing a gasp – it was strong stuff. "What's the _first_ best export?"

"That would be me, idiot," Shara told him. She had 100% self-confidence, presumably having traded in all her subtlety to get an upgrade. She picked up and drank a second shot, and then pointedly looked at him. Zyan took the hint and followed suit.

"Good – now we can talk, or rather I'm going to talk and you're going to listen," Shara said. "I'm sure all this moping about you're doing is a very important part of some kind of _process" - _she imbued the word with distaste, wrinkling her nose as she spoke it - "that other people do after a relationship starts to malfunction, but frankly it's starting to annoy me. You're a grownup, she's a grownup. People split up, it happens. You're still friends right now but unless you take immediate action you're going to screw that up too, and, look, well, you know how I split up with my last boyfriend."

"I'm not sure I want to know, to be honest Shar," Zyan replied, with genuine fear.

"That wasn't a question. You know because you were there when I shot him," she said.

"Shards! Romeo was your actual for-reals boyfriend when you did that?" Zyan was surprised, as he had indeed seen her shoot him, albeit with a stunner: _after_ holding a knife to his throat for blowing her cover on Chalice, oh, and threatening to toss him out of an airvan. Zyan had almost forgotten that, which was surprising because _he'd_ been included in that threat too.

"Yes – well, it was more of a casual thing, to be honest. It was hard to meet people in the Front, he was _there_ and he was okay to look at, and even if there wasn't a lot going on upstairs he knew which buttons to push in bed," Shara explained offhandedly.

"Shar! This is information I do not need!" Zyan sputtered.

"Prude," Shara accused him. "My point here is you and Alenda are over, and unless you want it to turn into a bad breakup, it's time for you to stop seeing her and move on."

"I haven't been seeing her," Zyan replied.

"Yeah right you haven't been seeing her," Shara rolled her eyes. "How do you explain last week?"

Zyan thought back. "It was a work conversation, she wanted to run something past Hollin. I told her to just ask him, I'm his partner not his boss."

"And it took an hour and a half to say that? Look, never mind, just draw a line under this, okay? Then either cheer up, or I'm going to help you get over yourself."

"Shara, seriously, I don't need help gett-" Zyan begun, but she cut him off.

"You clearly do, and anyway I wasn't asking, I was telling," she informed him, with a dark look.

"What exact kind of help are we talking about here?" He asked, slightly alarmed.

"Remember when I stabbed you in the arm that one time?" Shara asked.

"Gonna take a whole lot of crystal resonance to make me forget that."

"That will seem like a golden age in comparison," Shara promised.

Zyan was fairly sure she was joking, but it was hard to tell with her, sometimes. He remembered an occasion just after her first trip to the ranges when another singer, frustrated by the sight of a rookie – and a Locust, to boot - bringing in a cut of black decided to give her a piece of his mind, followed up with a shove into a stack of crates. Fortunately for the intemperate singer, Ballybran's inhabitants were able to regrow teeth and heal broken bones, and since he'd struck first she wasn't _officially_ sanctioned.

"You're forgetting I don't feel pain, Shar," Zyan said.

"I'll improvise. I can be very inventive," she said.

"I don't doubt it. Have to say this isn't the most positive pep talk I've ever had."

"Pah!" Shara snorted. "You're my friend and I've got your best interests at heart. You need a little bit of incentive to get over Alenda, who also, by the way, is miserable by having this dragged out – it's not only yourself you're being unfair on. Comradely cheering up isn't my forte, but I can threaten people very effectively."

"How did you know that? About Alenda, I mean," Zyan sked.

"Unlike men, women _talk_ to each other about how they feel. Alenda's a friend, we train together."

"Train? Train how?" Zyan asked.

"Martial arts, shardhead. We train with Vitzy. She usually-"

"You mean Aviczue?"

"Duh. Don't interrupt. She usually kicks both our behinds, even at the same time - whatever you do she's always somehow ready for it. Says she can just hear really, really well. You're changing the subject."

"Am not," Zyan responded.

"Grow up. My main concern is you being dreary and boringly morose. You're also forgetting to be acerbic with the Sorters and _I'm_ getting it in the ear from Zadran and Clodine about it. Marin and Vitzy and Jo and everyone have all tried saying something nice or cheering you up – even _Shecherzia_ has spoken to you with minimal sarcasm but it doesn't seem to be working, so it's time for my approach. So: move on, regain some happiness in your life, let Alenda regain some in hers too, or I will make it a living hell of pain and torment until you do."

"Wow. You should kick crystal singing in the head and go be a counselor down in Medical, Shar. It's a tragic waste that the Guild cannot benefit from your natural therapeutic gifts," Zyan told her, deadpan.

"See, you're making jokes already, it's working," Shara said, then took his beer and downed it disconcerting quickly. "Hey look, you finished your beer: go keep your promise and dance, and if I don't think you're enjoying yourself I will come over there and smash this bottle over your head, so you'd better be sharding _convincing_, okay?"

"Fine, if it'll make you happy," Zyan said, with a sudden grin, standing up.

"Oh, I'll be thrilled and delighted beyond my wildest dreams." Shara's expression was one of flat nonplussedness.

"You coming?" He asked.

"Me?" Shara favoured him with an expression of mild revulsion. "Don't be ridiculous."

Zyan dutifully spent a few minutes shuffling vaguely to the music with the others and laughing at Dane trying to do the splits, and Shara must have been satisfied as she brought him a replacement beer instead of breaking the empty one on his skull.

\- o O o -

It was a perniciously persistent myth that crystal singers couldn't get drunk. They could, but (given that their symbiont was in reasonable shape) they had to work at it quite hard and recovered quickly.

It was a testament to the little organism's irritating efficiency that after burning through the proceeds of an entire crate's worth from his last trip to the ranges (blue, this time, with Marin, Aviczue and Rhanui in a team of four – but a good deep blue) in beer, rum and something orange and green that Q'tonisa mixed up herself, Zyan found himself awake, sober and alert at an ungodly early hour, alone in his quarters. Desperate to return to sleep, he turned to his soporific of choice: paperwork.

The Locusts had decided early on to be a democratic organisation, so there was usually a proposal to look at: a member would suggest a site to prospect, or request volunteers to help cut at co-ordinates they felt needed more than the standard team of three or four singers to get the most out of. There had not, yet, been a dispute to resolve: all earnings went into a common fund from which Locusts drew an equal percentage, and since their new, semi-industrialised approach to cutting worked so well nobody had yet had cause to complain about it. There were bills to pay, though, even if there was only one supplier: the Guild.

There were also complaints, mostly passed on by the Guildmaster, the Crystal Singer or one of the Chiefs. The complaints all originated from _other_ singers, and they were always entirely spurious. A common favourite was that the Locusts were hogging the supply of available exo suits, and thus they were never available for use by any other singers. Zyan knew for a fact that no other singer had _ever_ troubled the Equipment section for one until they needed an excuse to make a complaint. The Locusts' methods were unpopular with a certain set of singers, but since they couldn't take issue with their success, they found other channels to express the dissatisfaction. Zyan had a template with a polite response all ready to go, requiring only a few tweaks, but it was still a thankless pain in the shards of a task.

Zyan looked at his queue of work for perhaps three minutes before his thoughts returned to Alenda.

They'd had two and a bit years together – perforce on and off, as Zyan was often in the ranges or off-planet away from crystal, and Alenda, as a Guildmember of Chief rank, had many demands on her time both on and off world. They'd managed to combine these off world trips twice in order to spend time together, but otherwise they'd been grabbing a day or two when they could, or sometimes even just an hour or two.

They'd both been realistic, too. They loved each other, without a doubt, but neither of them were the type to fall dramatically head-over-heels. Maybe that had been the actual problem: maybe you couldn't diarise romance, plan passion and carefully ration out little packages of ardour.

Their assignations had grown steadily further apart, and neither of them had wanted to mention that at the end of the last one they had not planned another.

Six or so months ago, Alenda had come to his quarters to let him know she was going off-world again: her official job title may have been Chief of Legal but it was common knowledge that she was, in reality, the Guildmaster's 'fixer', so it wasn't unusual for her trips to be at short notice and often without much in the way of explanation.

Zyan was understanding about this most recent trip, as he was about all of them.

"I don't know when I can see you again," she had said.

"Need a bodyguard? I can pack right now," Zyan had offered, with a smile.

Alenda had hesitated before replying, with an answering smile that he now knew she hadn't felt: "It's not one of those trips."

"Okay. Well, don't worry about me," he had answered, with a smile. "Whatever it is Lars has got you doing it's going to be important. It's fine. Good luck."

And _that_, he decided now, was probably what had hammered in the final nail. He wasn't a telepath like her, but he was pretty sure that she was looking for him to be disappointed, or angry, or to complain that she put the Guild ahead of him or tell her that he was coming whether she wanted him to or not. She wanted someone who _didn't_ think it was fine that they didn't see each other for weeks on end: and she knew what he thought, she always did.

If this realisation had come to him then, or even within the hour or so that it took for her to board the shuttle to Shankill, things might have been different. But he'd only thought of it now, alone in his quarters, half a year down the line in the small hours of the morning.

Zyan sighed. He'd seen her after that, of course – work stuff, like the previous week. They'd even subsequently had the 'talk', very warm and positive and 'let's still be friends' and they _were_.

The others thought he missed her and he did, but his actual problem was this: Alenda hadn't turned out to be the love of his life, nor he hers, and they were both fine with that, but he _wasn't_ fine with the fact that they could apparently be fine about it. That two people could open up to each other the way he and Alenda had, and then after only a couple of years just think '_well, it was good but it's over now, and that's just how these things go'._

"Only game in town, looks like," Zyan said to himself.

He had an option for making all of this go away, of course. He could perform a few important edits on his personal recordings, get his cutter out of storage with Clarend, jump in the _That'll Do_ and head off into the ranges. A few sessions of intensive cutting without a break, a few instances of letting himself thrall and a precipitous, last-minute escape from a claim thrumming with mach storm resonances would go quite some way to blunting his memories of Alenda: and anyone and anything else, but anything he wanted to reconstruct he could leave in his personal recordings. It would be insanely dangerous, certainly, but effective.

Tempting.

But no.

It wouldn't only be perilous, but also cheating. Slicing out inconvenient emotions and memories struck him as cowardly. If he was going to get past this, the best thing was probably to move on. Have fun. See other people. Book himself some time offworld and have a fling with someone completely unrelated to the Guild or Ballybran. Wash, rinse, repeat and avoid Alenda until he'd done enough of all that to get over himself. Apart from anything else, if Shara was right then his current in-between state of regret and listlessness was bringing Alenda down, and that was just selfish of him.

Right. Okay. Definite course of action decided upon. Zyan already felt better.

His terminal chirruped. _Incoming message from Guildmember Falkstrom: I need you, it's urgent. Can you come up to Shankill as soon as possible, please?_

Zyan sighed. "Yep. Figures."

\- o O o -

Half an hour later, he was showered, changed and onto the shuttle to Shankill. This trip was by now so familiar to Zyan that it was akin to taking a bus rather than leaving a planetary surface and docking with an enormous orbital installation, and like any bus trip, you sometimes had to deal with annoying and obstreperous passengers.

The culprits were, as always, crystal singers. Sorters would tell you that crystal singers were at their worst just in off the ranges, Clarend the Cutter Technician had a long back catalogue of insulting singer behaviour when they brought their cutters in for repair, and Donalla and Presnol would eruditely opine that whilst singers were indeed unpleasant during those times, they could become _very _objectionable when recovering from an injury in the infirmary.

If you asked Zyan, though, he would answer that they really pulled out all the stops and went to full 100% zero-shards-given maximum spitefulness when they were flush with cash and on their way off-planet to blow it all.

The pair of singers currently exhibiting this behaviour were called… Well, Zyan thought that the woman was Ussa-something and he just didn't know the man's name, but in any case it didn't matter. They were in character as Harpy and her boyfriend Gloat.

Harpy was loudly reading from a flimsy detailing all the wonderful things they could do on the planet upon which they had chosen to inflict themselves this time. Gloat chipped in every now and again with 'that sounds wonderful!' or 'how fascinating, I can't wait to try it!' The purpose behind this, of course, was to impress upon the half dozen or so assorted other guildmembers on board that _they_ would have to satisfy themselves with the quotidian facilities of Shankill or the nearer systems.

Donalla, who headed up medical research for the Guild, had once given Zyan a very thorough explanation of this childish behaviour. The reason most adults didn't carry on like singers was mostly social – humans had evolved to get on with one another because by doing so one improved one's own chance of passing your genes on to the next generation. The Ballybran symbiote – at least in humans – made this irrelevant: Ballybranners were all sterile. Most rational humans would still instinctively co-operate with each other, but when you added in repeated exposure to dangerous levels of crystal resonance, such as those most singers routinely decided not to avoid, your built-in behavioural cues got corrupted. They were rewritten on the individual level, or at most to include one other person: your partner. You ceased to care much about anyone else (with the exception of the Guildmaster and the Crystal Singer, who were respected and/or feared by everyone), and thus didn't bother to suppress the urge to act like a complete fardling when you felt like it because as far as your sociopathic crystal-rewired brain was concerned nobody else really mattered beyond what they could do for you.

"Of course, it's made all the much better because we achieved this ourselves," Harpy remarked.

_Here we go_, Zyan thought. He'd seen Harpy take note of his presence when she boarded and shoot him a look of pure disdain.

"No help from anyone else, in the traditional way that made the Heptite Guild the force it is today," Gloat agreed.

_In the boneheaded way that nearly ran it into the ground_, Zyan translated mentally.

He could usually rise above this baiting, but he wasn't in the best of moods and it was still early.

"So you did what, exactly? Built your own Guild cube, built your own sled, fuelled it, grew the food for the rations to stock it with, built your own cutter, sorted your crystal yourselves, fixed yourselves up with sticking plaster and duct tape when you got injured, went round buyers yourselves to sell your crystal, haggled with them, learned enough about contract law to draft the sales agreements on your own, packed your crystal for transit yourselves and handled the export and logistics yourselves, did you? No help from _anyone,_" Zyan retorted. "I'm surprised you're not flying this shuttle right now."

"I don't recall involving _you_ in this conversation," Harpy harped.

"The shard you didn't," Zyan snorted.

"In any case, we pay our tithes the same as any other singer," Gloat sniffed. "We are entitled to the services you describe."

"You're entitled, all right," Zyan told him. "Know what? I just don't _get_ you people."

This made Gloat turn around in his seat to face Zyan with a poisonous expression. "And exactly _what_ do you mean by 'you people'?"

"Idiots," Zyan replied nonchalantly.

Harpy turned around too, with a similar expression to her partner.

"How dare you!" She hissed, pretending outrage although Zyan knew that this was probably exactly what they had been trying to provoke.

"You've sharding won at life," Zyan said. "Don't you understand that? Next best thing to eternal youth? Check. Lose an arm and it grows back? Check. Illness and disease not a problem? Check. Faster, stronger, more agile? Check. Opportunity to earn a shard-ton of cash in a stable enviromment to properly enjoy aforementioned blessings? Check. And what do you do with it? You fry your brains out in the ranges doing something the _wrong_ way, then when you actually do get lucky enough so that it pays off, you sit on your asses on a shuttle being obnoxious shardholes to your fellow passengers, spend as many days as you can manage off-world being obnoxious shardholes to the locals, then drag yourselves back here with the shakes, spend a week in the infirmary being obnoxious shardholes to the medical staff and then start the whole sorry cycle all over again. The only reason you're not both bored shardless with the sheer bloody pointlessness of it all is that you probably don't remember the last fifteen or sixteen times you went through it, although the rest of us poor schmucks who have to share a shuttle with you _do_, by the way. Seriously: you could do _anything_. Get ten degrees in a row or become the galaxy's acknowledged foremost expert on something. Learn to play every instrument ever devised by all known species. But no: you do this. So yes, you're idiots."

Harpy blinked.

"I shall be filing a formal change of discourtesy against you the moment this shuttle docks!" Gloat announced.

"Might aswell be hung for a sheep, then," Zyan told him, and gave him that most ancient of insulting gestures: the finger.

"You go too far!" Gloat said.

"No, I'd have gone too far if you actually got up out of your seat and _did_ something about _this_," Zyan indicated his finger, "besides sit there and bleat about discourtesy. But you won't."

"I would not hasten to make such as assumption, were I you," Gloat threatened.

"Come on and have a pop at me then," Zyan shrugged.

"Guildmembers!" The pilot's voice announced. "Please calm down at once, remain seated and cease this dispute or I will report all three of you to the Guildmaster."

Harpy and Gloat turned back around. Zyan put his hands back in his lap.

_That was mature Zyan,_ Zyan chided himself.

_Felt good, though, _he added.

\- o O o -

He didn't feel so good about it half an hour later, having spent ten minutes waiting outside the Guild offices on Shankill. The reason for the delay became apparent when Harpy and Gloat emerged from one of the offices and strode past him with smug expressions on their faces. Gloat had been as good as his word, it seemed.

"You will die alone in the ranges, unloved, unmourned and unlamented," Zyan said softly.

Sharp crystal singer hearing meant they heard. "What? Was that a _threat!_" They stopped.

"Just quoting some poetry," Zyan shrugged.

"If we were not now _late_ for our connection, I would report you again!" Harpy screeched.

"Do, it, then," Zyan told her slowly.

"I have a good mind to!" Harpy said.

"You _don't _have a good mind, _that's_ your entire problem. You've burnt it out," Zyan informed her, standing up and placing his hands very deliberately behind his back as he did so. He leaned forward as he stood, getting into Gloat's personal space. _Go on, mate, do it._

"You arrogant, insulting-" Gloat said, and raised a hand to force Zyan away.

_Result,_ Zyan thought, _now I can hit you._

_This has gone far enough_, the thought popped into his brain.

"Whatever. Enjoy your holiday, Guildmembers," Zyan said, and stood aside.

Gloat snorted, and stalked away with Harpy in tow. Zyan waited until they left, and then smirked.

Alenda was looking at him from the doorway of the office, and she was _not_ amused.

"I could have really done _without_ having to deal with that this morning, Zyan. Proud of yourself?" She asked him.

Zyan drew in breath to make a flippant reply, then stopped. "No, not really," he admitted.

Alenda shook her head, and her expression moved from displeasure to something approaching sadness. "CS Ussara and CS Yanholt will be going straight to Departures. _You_, go to _Arrivals_. Have some breakfast, have a drink, calm down. I'll come and find you there in a while."

Zyan blinked. "I thought you needed me urgently."

Alenda looked at him, and her expression became colder. "I was mistaken. I have a meeting. I'll talk to you afterwards, or if you prefer you can return to the surface. The Guild will cover the cost of the two shuttle flights, as they were only necessary due to my...error of judgement."

Alenda's voice was level and calm, but Zyan could not remember having been on the receiving end of such a scathing reprimand before. He was, abruptly, no longer angry.

"I'll be in Arrivals," he said.

Alenda's expression softened once again, and she seemed on the verge of saying something else, but then simply nodded and went back into her office. Zyan turned and went out the way he'd come in. He had to step aside to allow one of the station's crew to come past – the woman was leading two men into the Guild offices, both of them in grey shipsuits. One, the younger, was a standard issue FSP apparatchik. The other was older, and did _not_ fit the FSP mould. He had long hair, for a start, iron-grey and in a ponytail, and a short beard. A scar from his forehead to his jawline, bisecting his left eye, completed the grizzled veteran look very nicely, even if it did look quite recent – and the eye beneath it was a cybernetic replacement. They both looked at Zyan, who nodded politely. The younger one nodded back – the older one, whose face was set in a fixed scowl of concentration, as if he was solving a difficult equation without computer or paper – ignored him, and they moved past.

That was all the time Zyan had to gather impressions, and in any case his mind was on other things. He headed to Arrivals, and went immediately to the bar.

\- o O o -

Alenda found him a couple of hours later, arrowing across the busy terminal floor with her usual assurance. Her white sensor stick was held loosely at her side – it was there for appearances only, Alenda's senses being different, rather than impaired.

Zyan was in a corner booth, on his second Kachachurian scotch. Alenda sat down, diagonally across the table.

She was beyond beautiful. She was an unique being with unique powers, a mythical goddess reified into perfect form.

_Oh, stop that, _she thought at him irritably.

_Sorry. Not my fault you're the galaxy's only telepath and ridiculously hot into the bargain, is it?_

_That isn't going to help you get back into my good books_, she replied.

_I know, I know. That was inappropriate, sorry._

_You don't have to apologise for your thoughts, Zyan. Your actions, on the other hand, have just given me an extra bit of stress that added an extra dimension to my morning that really rounded it out nicely, so thank you for that._

_Sorry, _he winced.

"A little early, isn't it?" She asked him, eyeing his choice of drink while dialling for a coffee.

"Technically it's late, for me," Zyan answered.

"Of course – it's Locust Day," Alenda said.

"Was, yesterday. You were invited," Zyan told her. "You're as much a member as I am."

"Honourary, perhaps. I'm sorry I was unable to attend."

Zyan winced slightly. "I truly am sorry I was such a sharding ass with those two idiots. They really, _really_ rubbed me up the wrong way and I just ran out of patience."

Alenda looked at him. "I don't doubt that they were as wearisomely and predictably horrid as their sort inevitably are, but do you think provoking confrontations will change their attitude?"

"No. Sorry you had to deal with the fallout," Zyan apologised.

"I've had to file the charge, I'm afraid, and your transparent little performance after the fact won't have helped, "Alenda told him.

"Didn't think it would, wasn't trying to fool you, I just really wanted to hit that guy," Zyan confessed.

"I know, Zyan," she said.

_Of course you do_, Zyan thought. He hadn't been trying to hide anything from her because he couldn't, and knew it.

_Please don't, _Alenda replied in his thoughts. _I didn't ask for this ability and I don't always like having it._

_I don't mind you being in here. Didn't when we met, still don't now._

Alenda put her hand on his arm and squeezed it briefly.

Out loud, she said: "It's a first offence, and just a verbal insult. You can appeal it, make a public apology, or pay a 200 credit fine. If you appeal, there'll be a procedure, witness statements and an investigation. If it happens after they've been back in the ranges and they lose the memory, you may even win it – I doubt anyone will choose to speak on their behalf."

"I've wasted enough of your time, so no appeal, but I'll take the hit financially rather than to my pride, thank you," Zyan replied.

"Very well," Alenda said, as her coffee emerged from the slot. She took a sip.

"So, can I ask why you wanted to see me?" Zyan asked.

Alenda shook her head. "I'm not able to talk about it."

But she would have been, Zyan guessed, if he hadn't just flown off the handle at those two singers.

Alenda looked at him, uncomfortable, took her bottom lip between her teeth, and nodded in confirmation.

He'd endured similar needling many times previously with nothing but a roll of his eyes and an indifferent shrug - they'd been the excuse, not the reason. If he was feeling confrontational, it was because of something else.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was angry earlier, but I _have_ made an error in judgement. It would be a mistake for us to work together on anything sensitive. I'm not an empath, so I don't know for sure what you're _feeling_, but judging by what just happened it's not anything good, and it's me that brought it out."

"My actions are not your responsibility, Alenda," Zyan said.

"They are," Alenda told him, looking almost scared, for a moment.

"What? No they're not. How is one person responsible for everything a-", Zyan began.

"I mean they are if I recruit you for an assignment," Alenda clarified quickly.

Zyan sighed: she was right. "I was thinking this morning. I can't believe I let you walk out of my life. I didn't think that was what I wanted and-" He paused. "Shards. It _isn't_ what I wanted. It isn't what I want _now_. I'm sorry, I know we're over and you've moved on and I should bloody respect that but-"

He hadn't meant to say anything. He was just going to apologise for any distress he'd caused with his attitude, reassure her that from now on he was officially back on the market, haha, and they were friends and everything was okay.

"Stop," she said. "I-, look, come back to my office. Please?"

"Of course," Zyan put down his drink, unfinished.

He followed her back to her Shankill office – she neither spoke nor thought, and he said nothing either, although he was wondering what this was about and she would sense that. She opened the door, ushered him in, and closed it behind them.

"How do you know what you wanted, Zyan?" Alenda asked him, crossing her office and standing behind her desk.

"Well, I thought about it this morning and decided it was time to move on, but turns out that deep down I was evidently having other thoughts," Zyan replied.

Alenda nodded. "Thoughts. Let me tell you about something that happened seven months, one week and three days ago. I was negotiating with a senior partner in an interstellar law firm, who was being very firm about exit clauses regarding an agreement we have with one of his clients. I'll be frank: I was bored out of my mind. This is needless, I thought. The Guild has no intention of ever invoking them anyway. Do you know what he then said?"

To his credit, Zyan got it immediately. "He agreed they were needless and would never be invoked anyway. This was almost certainly just a coincidence, Alenda."

Alenda shook her head, and called up a document on her terminal – a series of diary entries. "Three days later, discussion with the other Chiefs, I agreed with the Chief of Marketing that her budget needed to be increased, everyone else suddenly agreed. Seven days later, another contract negotiation suddenly goes my way. Nine days later, again. Thirteen days. Fourteen. Fifteen. I've logged over 300 instances now."

"Alenda, there are plenty of explanations for this," Zyan said.

"Really?" She asked him.

Zyan banged his hand down on the table. "Yes, shard it, there are!" Then he looked at his hand in surprise.

"Didn't really want to do that, did you?" Alenda asked him.

Zyan looked up from his hand to her. "Did you really just…?"

Alenda sighed and nodded. "Yes, disgustingly quick study that I am, I've already analysed what was happening and, and, _weaponised_ it."

"Then you know how to _not_ do it as well as do it," Zyan said.

"It is not a capability I currently have operational confidence in, and anyway it's beside the point. _Nobody_ should have this power, Zyan. I'm only human. Sensing people's thoughts was enough responsibility. I don't trust myself not to control people. I don't trust myself to even know I'm doing it. Not yet."

"Earlier, in the office, when I was trying to provoke-"

"And the thought just occurred to you that things had gone far enough," Alenda finished for him. "Just the most recent in a long line of interventions I had no right to make."

Zyan was quiet for a moment.

"Well, I _was_ being a real shardhole," Zyan admitted.

Alenda gave him a look of frustration. "Anti-social behaviour is not an excuse for mind control, Zyan."

"Alenda, you're a _good_ person," he said. "Maybe nobody _should_ be able to do this, but if someone has to? You're about the most responsible, level, rational person I know. You can handle this."

"What if I can't handle it? What if it becomes an addiction? Power corrupts, Zyan, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. What if this power turned me into a monster?"

"You could _never_ be a monster, Alenda," Zyan said emphatically.

"I really wanted you to say something like that – and then you did," Alenda's shoulders slumped.

"Hey, that was from me. I swear it," Zyan told her, walking round the desk and putting his arms around her. She put her head on his shoulders.

"I don't _want_ you out of my life," she said, "but I don't want your desires to just become an extension of mine. Nobody's ever let me in as much as you, Zyan. It's one thing to maintain mental discipline when I'm doing my job, quite another to keep myself locked away from someone I want to be close to. How do I know my subconscious isn't influencing yours without my even knowing it, and what if I did long-term damage? From the way you blew up at those two singers, I think I might have been."

"This is something we can deal with, Alenda," Zyan told her. "Whatever it takes. I love you. We'll find a way."

Alenda shuddered in his arms. "I needed to hear you say that again. I'm sorry. I love you too, but I have to stop."

Zyan let her go, or rather found himself letting her go. He hadn't had any intention of doing so until then.

Then he went suddenly cold all over. "Again?" He asked her, walking back to the other side of her desk. Why _again_?

Alenda was crying. "I'm so sorry. I keep doing this. It's not fair on you, but I can't stop."

"Stop? Stop what? We haven't spoken outside of work stuff since we decided we were going to just be friends," Zyan was confused.

Alenda got herself under control, wiped away her tears and sat down. "We have. Five times. You wouldn't remember." She cleared her display, blanking the diary entries.

"I haven't been taking any chances with resonance, though," Zyan told her, also sitting down although he questioned why he was even as he did it. "I'm not suffering from memory loss."

"It's not _crystal_ making you forget, Zyan," Alenda said, looking on the verge of breaking down again.

Zyan put it together. Shara's words from last night rang in his ears: _yeah right you haven't been seeing her. _

"Oh. I see," he said, shoulders slumping. "It's you."

Alenda nodded. "I'm not safe for you, Zyan. You _have_ to see that. What I'm doing is not normal."

"Shard _normal_. We can work on this, Alenda. Please!"

"You always say that. You've never once become angry with me," Alenda told him, with a look of sadness.

"I'm honestly more worried about you," Zyan replied. "Let's figure this thing out. There are two of the smartest medical minds in the FSP down on the surface. Got to be worth a shot."

"Putting a friend in the position of knowing about me is not something I want to do – Donalla and Presnol would have to choose between their medical ethics and their duty to protect others from a possibly dangerous individual. I've been weak enough to seek solace in your company and your understanding and your _forgiveness_, but it's getting harder every time to make you forget, so I'm drawing a line under this before I permanently damage you."

"Then don't do it this time and let's sort this the shard out," Zyan said.

"And risk turning one of the best people I know into my own personal puppet? No." Alenda shook her head. "I'll be away for a while, over Passover and beyond," she went on. "It's for the best, I think. I'll be among strangers – it's easier, with strangers, to keep my mind under control, and there'll only be a few other people at P13205. There is also the possibility that I might-"

She stopped for a moment, and blinked back tears.

"I may be able to learn something – it's a small chance, but now I have something to cling on to. I'm not going to gamble your sanity on a chance, though."

"Stop this, Alenda. You're safe _now_," Zyan pleaded, fighting to get out of the chair, to go back to her, to make her understand. He shifted his weight, leaned forward – and then sat down again.

"Perhaps one day."

"I'll go with you to this P13205 place, then. I can help!"

"I'm too dangerous for you to be around right now, Zyan," Alenda repeated.

"Let's have this conversation again. If you need me, call me. I'll be there. If it's a risk it's a risk, I gamble with my sanity every time I go out to cut anyway," Zyan said.

"No, you don't, you're careful and you follow Donalla's advice because you know that the ranges are dangerous and you have to respect that. It's time for me to show some respect for the danger _I_ represent. I love you, Zyan, but I have to let you go," Alenda said, and then she was calm and controlled again.

Zyan stared at her for a few moments, then blinked.

"How did we get here?" He asked.

"I thought it was time you stopped drinking in the morning and it's better to have this talk in private," Alenda said hollowly.

"What? Oh, yeah, of course. Are you okay? You look...haunted." Zyan was shocked at her sudden change in demeanour and appearance.

"We both need to move on, Zyan," Alenda told him.

Zyan sighed. "Shara told me as much last night. You're right, of course."

"I want you to be happy. Find someone else. You're a good man, and you deserve someone who can...look after you. Someone who wants what's best for you and puts you first," Alenda told him.

"Couples look after _each other_, Alenda," Zyan replied. "Help each other with their problems. It's not a one-way street where one decides what's best for the other."

Alenda looked at him as if she'd just seen a ghost.

Zyan shook his head. "Sorry, hardly the time for a debate as to exactly what constitutes a relationship, is it? My bad. I understand. We're friends, you deserve the right somebody too, and we're moving on," he smiled.

Alenda arranged her features into a smile, and stood up. "Great – and do me a favour: no more fights with other singers, so matter how awfully they're behaving."

Zyan stood also. "I'll do my best, and that's all you're getting from me on that score, because for crystal singers, 'awful behaviour' is a pretty high bar."

"Granted," Alenda agreed. "It's goodbye for a while, I'm afraid. I'll be on assignment offworld."

"Sure you can't tell me what it's about?" He asked.

Alenda shook her head. "Not this time, I'm afraid."

"Well," Zyan responded, from the doorway, "if you need me, call me. I'll be there."

Alenda looked, for a microsecond or two, like she'd been punched in the gut – but then her smile returned.

"I know," she said, "but I'm going to handle this one alone."

\- o O o -

"Doesn't feel flawed, well, I don't think so anyway," Zyan reported over the comunit he'd duct-taped to his exo-assist suit. "We did bury it pretty deep, though."

That morning, Zyan had woken up from hibernation on Shankill, completing his third yearly cycle of stuffing himself silly and sleeping through the Passover storms. This behaviour was forced upon every inhabitant of Ballybran by the symbiote in their bodies, but after Passover every crystal singer immediately went to check their claims for damage – a habit no less ingrained for all that it was not biologically enforced. It was a fortunate singer who did not find at least one of their claims had suffered damage and had flaw to clear away before they could cut again, or, all too frequently, that the claim was completely destroyed.

The Locusts had thirty seven current claims to check. Despite this lengthy list, they were not overly worried about an expensive butcher's bill, because with a complete and total disrespect for tradition they halted all cutting in advance of the Passover storms and instead expended a great deal of effort protecting their claims. Unless a storm was howling in on them unexpectedly they always piled up some rocks and applied some plasfoam protection after cutting a claim, but before Passover two or more repetitions of this process were indicated, especially for claims with a large working face. This was time-consuming, even with exo-assist suits (all the Locusts were now highly adept in their use), but nowhere near as time-consuming as finding a new claim because your old one had been totalled by a mach storm or five.

They didn't have a 100% success rate – each year they'd suffered at least some losses – but they had, so far, managed to preserve their first (and still most lucrative, by a long shot) claim – Yanakov's black crystal face. It was thoroughly covered up after every visit, and the rule was that it wasn't _uncovered_ unless Meteorology was pretty confident of at least a week's good weather, although a pair of Locusts were always stationed by it to deter claim jumpers. Before Passover, though, it was always buried under several extra metres of rock and foam.

The days when four singers could cut it at once were long gone – the claim had narrowed as they worked their way into the cliff-face, it was now more like a mine than a quarry – but Zyan was certain they were far from exhausting it. He had flown in with Rhanui, Janso and Aviczue to evaluate the claim, unearth it once more and, if the weather report didn't change in the next few hours, fire up the production line (two cut, one carries crates, one rests, then rotate) and get cutting.

First they had to expose it, though – Zyan got to work with solvent and suit, dissolving foam, prying loose boulders and shovelling shale out of the way. Almost an entire day of this exposed the crystal face once more. With intense relief, they found it to have only minor flawing on the surface, which was cut away with minimal effort (even flawed black crystal had value, so they packed the shards). This, just as the sun was setting, rendered the face cuttable.

"Hello beautiful. Sleep well?" Zyan asked it. It chimed and tinkled an answer back to him, almost as if it was as pleased to see him as he was to find it intact.

He'd been unsettled and discontented since the talk with Alenda, after they'd decided to just be friends. It was the right thing for them – that was an unarguable certainty in his mind - but he couldn't shake the feeling that something had been left unsaid between them, something that needed to be dealt with had been left undone – there was no closure there but he couldn't think why not. It felt wrong and it was eating at him, somewhere deep in his core. Strange that it had dragged on so long before they'd finally had a conversation that drew a line under it, or at least tried to. Maybe _she_ had, but he wasn't sure _he_ had.

Crystal, on the other hand, was simple. It always wanted you and never held anything back. A shaft of sunlight angled in to illuminate the face. Zyan closed his eyes and reached out towards the glassy smooth surface.

Aviczue yanked his arm away. "Careful, Zyan! Crystal does not have to be cut to thrall you. Gloves!"

Zyan had to bite back an angry response, but she was right. He looked at his right hand, unsurprised to see that he'd removed his glove without even thinking of it. Zyan thralled very easily – especially with black. He let out a stream of muttered vituperation.

"It is a perniciously dangerous material," Marin agreed. "I recommend you rest, Zyan. You did the lion's share of the excavation. We will cut while there is light."

Zyan nodded and stalked away, but Marin had got it wrong. He thought Zyan had been swearing because he'd nearly thralled, but it wasn't that. He'd been angry because he _hadn't_.

\- o O o -

Zyan hated crystal's 'morning chimes' and always had. Humans should not be so easily controlled by an inanimate substance, it was demeaning – just another example of how the crystal, the spore and the weather really called the shots on Ballybran and always would, no matter how long the Heptite Guild endured for. Zyan curled into a foetal ball and rode it out – trying hard not to think of Alenda's long-limbed grace and ice blue eyes.

He had a perfunctory wash at the sink – the tiny shower cabinet on the _That'll Do_ had never worked and he'd never got round to fixing it – and shrugged on his work gear. Next up was breakfast – a high-protein porridge which he had no strong feelings about but was quick to eat. He was reaching for his cutter when he realised he sensed a distant whine: this quickly resolved into the familiar sound of an airsled's whooshing engines, and then his sled comunit crackled to life.

"Stand down, everyone, it's just me," Q'Tonisa's voice issued from the device.

Zyan keyed the comm. "Hey Toni. What's up? Aren't you supposed to be working that dark green claim with Shara?"

"Yes – I'll fill you in in a moment," Q'Tonisa replied, as she decked her sled.

Q'Tonisa, it turned out, came bearing an official summons from the Guildmaster, for Aviczue and Zyan.

"Your presence has been requested as quickly as possible – he didn't give me any details, before you ask, but they _both_ emphasised that it's very important and that you should go straight to his office upon arrival. Shara's already been called in. I'll stay here with Rhanui to guard the claim, Dane and Jo are securing Blue 5 and then coming here so we can resume cutting ASAP," she explained.

"The Guildmaster would not lightly interfere with our operations," Marin pondered, looking thoughtful.

"_Shara's_ been called in?" Zyan asked. "Why Shara?"

"For that matter, why _me?_" Aviczue added, then turned to Zyan. "You haven't shot someone again, have you?" Another possibility occurred to her, and she went slightly pale. "Oh Gods, I hope Shara hasn't happened to anyone."

Everyone looked at Q'Tonisa. "Remember the part where he didn't give me any details?" She reminded them.

"Only one way to find out," Aviczue shrugged, "and we can't ignore an official summons anyway. Marin, do you want to stay and cut with Rhanui and Q'Tonisa? Zyan can give me a lift in the _That'll Do."_

"Will you be okay on your own?" Marin asked.

"We're not cutting, Marin, only flying back to the Guild cube," Aviczue reminded him. Marin nodded his acceptance.

Yesterday's shards had been stowed in Marin and Aviczue's sled. Meagre haul that it was, they transferred the single crate into the _That'll Do_, and Aviczue took her leave of her partner and buckled herself into the co-pilot's seat – despite the fact that it was a single sled, Zyan had retrofitted one as the Locusts often shuttled each other around. Zyan lifted off and set a course for the cube – there was little point in plotting a sneaky, evasive course: the location of Yanakov's old claim was common knowledge, thanks to it's notoriety and Soros Vander's loose lips.

"Are you ever going to repaint this thing?" Aviczue asked him as they headed off, eyeing the scuffed interior with slight disapprobation. She had Views on the upkeep of sleds, which she saw as a singer's primary home as well as primary mode of transportation. On Aviczue and Marin's sled, there was a place for everything and everything was in it's place.

"It's cramped enough in here as it is – an extra coat of paint'll really cut down on the available living space," Zyan replied.

"Hilarious as ever," Aviczue said, but snorted in laughter despite herself.

"ETA three hours seventeen minutes," Zyan said, as the nav updated.

Aviczue bit her bottom lip for a moment, then expelled her breath through her nose. "Listen, I've kind of avoided mentioning Alenda because you two are clearly going through some kind of process and I didn't want to interfere with it."

Aviczue clearly didn't have the same attitude towards 'processes' that Shara did, because she said it earnestly rather than disparagingly.

"But somewhere in here," she tapped her temple, "there's still a cop and she is currently pointing out that a fairly critical link between you, me and Shara is the aforementioned Chief of Legal whom scuttlebutt says is currently on an off-world assignment that's very hush-hush."

Zyan sighed. "Off the record, but yeah, she is. I don't know anything about it except she decided I shouldn't be involved, this time."

"Because ex?"

"Because I had a blow up with a couple of singers on the shuttle to Shankill who were being, well, singers. But possibly also because ex, yeah. We had The Talk, too. You know The Talk," Zyan admitted.

"In your case it seems to be an ongoing negotiation rather than _a_ talk, but yes, I know what you mean," Aviczue said, but not indelicately.

"Give me some credit, when she said she wanted us to move on, I agreed, " Zyan said, slightly defensively.

"Eventually," Aviczue replied.

"It was a long time not to talk to someone, I know, and I was going to, but it never seemed to be the right time. Always just got the idea in my head that I shouldn't."

Aviczue looked at him oddly. "Have you been cutting alone?"

"What? No. I'm occasionally reckless, Vitzy, I'm not _suicidal_," Zyan was almost offended.

"Okay, then you're lying to yourself, " Aviczue glared.

"Pretty sure I'm _not_ suicidal. I'd've succeeded by now," Zyan attempted to quip, but it fell flat.

"Not about that, Zyan. You've seen her twice that I can remember since you broke up, " Aviczue informed him heavily.

"I really haven't."

"I'm not saying you've been barging into her quarters unannounced or hanging around outside her office, Zyan, in fact I'm pretty sure _she_ called _you_ both times. You are both, I am sure, mutually unable to make a clean break of it. I'm just saying you need to be honest with yourself that you are letting a dead relationship shamble on, it's not healthy, and, look, just deal with what is _actually happening_, okay, not the edited version of reality you're apparently trying to paste over the top of it." Aviczue had moved onto being annoyed, now.

Zyan opened his mouth to inform her she could walk back to the cube if she was going to be like that, but then stopped himself. He was a careful cutter, and he'd been following Donalla's three tenets – cut for short amounts of time, don't stay in the ranges for a long time and don't hang around your claim when the wind was getting up – _reasonably_ carefully. This should ensure he suffered minimal memory loss.

"Minimal isn't nothing, though," he said.

"What?" Aviczue asked.

"I'm a bit thrally," Zyan admitted.

"That's putting it mildly," Aviczue agreed.

"Yeah. Especially with black," Zyan went on. "Yanakov's claim's started to get pretty boxed in the more we've cut, at this point whoever's cutting is pretty much surrounded by crystal, and that's the claim I've been working ninety percent of the time. That's a lot of resonance from three sides at once. You think maybe, if there was something in my head I wasn't too happy about, it might get kinda sorta erased even if we weren't cutting intensively? If it was at the edge of my mind, like?" Zyan asked.

"You've got me in a box here, Zyan," Aviczue answered. "On the one hand I'm pretty sure that last part of what you just said is absolute pseudoscientific claptrap, but on the other hand you're actually showing some self-awareness and I'm 100% here for that."

"Quick trip down to medical after we see the guvnor?" Zyan suggested.

"I think that's a really good idea," Aviczue nodded. "Also, I think never call Lars Dahl the 'guvnor'."

"Okay then," Zyan agreed.

\- o O o -

They were met, in the hangar, by two staffers from Guild management. This was unusual for many reasons: admin types rarely, if ever, ventured into the noise and bustle of the hangar. The two men – one with the lined look of a guild veteran, the other fresh-faced and probably a recent 'specialist' recruit – also had a strange request.

"The Guildmaster and the Crystal Singer want to see you separately. CS Cahrera first – please come with me to the Guildmaster's elevator," the older one said. "CS Jarvis, please accompany my colleague to the Chief Sorter's office."

"What?" Aviczue asked again. "Why can't we just all get the lift together?"

"This is a direct request from the Guildmaster," the older one said.

"That's not an answer," Aviczue replied.

"I will remind you, singer, that you have been issued an official summons," was the rejoinder. The older staffer, perhaps more accustomed to dealing with singers, looked unfazed. The younger one almost winced.

"Still not an answer," Aviczue said.

"There are stiff penalties for ignoring an official summons, CS Cahrera," Lined-face said.

"We _haven't_ ignored it – we're here, aren't we? All I'm disputing is this rigmarole about keeping us separated," Aviczue glared at the man. "Zyan, is Hollin on the rota to be out on a claim today?"

"Sorry, he is," Zyan nodded. He'd had the exact same thought as soon as this became an 'official' situation, but the Locusts' legal expert was, indeed, out checking sites.

"This is a direct request from the Guildmaster," Lined-face repeated. He was probably happy to stand there and repeat the same lines until the next Passover descended.

Fresh-face had obviously come to the same conclusion and decided to try a little diplomacy. "Crystal singers, if I may, I realise that this is an irregular occurrence but the Guildmaster and his deputy have-"

Aviczue and Zyan blinked. A passing hangar hand winced. Cargo handlers stopped to stare. Only Lined-face evinced no surprise.

"Whoa! Someone's clearly new," Zyan stopped him. "Lemme do you a quick favour here – she is the _Crystal Singer_. With capitals, with the appropriate tone of reverence. Never a deputy anything, never an assistant anything. You'll thank me for this later, trust me."

Lined-face now seemed to take notice and turned to his counterpart. "You would do well to remember this, Stannon." Zyan twigged – Lined-face was deaf, and had been lip reading. Not at all uncommon in the Guild.

"Oh-kay," Stannon said slowly. "You can all consider that duly taken on board. I was just going to go on to say that the Guildmaster and the Crystal Singer have good reasons for this request. Please trust them."

"Okay, fine," Aviczue acquiesced. "For the record, though, if you'd led with that we'd be upstairs by now."

"Can we swing by Medical instead of getting in Clodine's way, though? I need to see Donalla about something," Zyan asked Stannon.

"Quit name dropping, Zyan," Aviczue murmured to him.

"I never!" Zyan protested.

Lined-face considered it. "That will be acceptable as long as you avoid contact with CS Ferozacorazon."

"I have literally no idea who that is," Zyan answered.

Aviczue sighed. "Shara, you idiot."

"For reals? Wow. No wonder she kept it quiet," Zyan commented.

"If we might proceed?" Lined-face hinted.

"Please," Aviczue acceded, rolling her eyes.

\- o O o -

By rights, Zyan should not realistically have been able to saunter into the Infirmary and expect to see the Heptite Guild's Chief of Medical Research on what basically amounted to a whim, but over the course of the past 3 years a solid working relationship had developed between the Locusts and the progressively minded medic, who had adopted a somewhat maternal attitude to the group. Most of them had, from the beginning of their crystal singing careers, adhered strictly to her recommendations on working practices. She had quietly let it be known to the Guild's medical staff that if a Locust had need of medical treatment then they were to be directed to her – Presnol, the Chief of Medicine (and her other half) was happy to go along with this. In return, the Locusts were happy to be her personal research project. Thus, Zyan was waved through the Infirmary to Donalla's office without fuss, Stannon tagging meekly along behind.

"Zyan! How lovely to see you. Is everything alright?" Donalla greeted him, then turned a pleasant smile on the over-awed Stannon (she was, after all, of Chief rank and it was widely known she was a close friend of the Crystal Singer, too). "Hi, I'm Donalla Fiske-Ulass. I don't believe we've met."

"Stannon Bannon, ma'am," Stannon nodded respectfully and introduced himself.

Despite everything currently going on, this gave Zyan cause to pause. He looked at Stannon. "Seriously?"

Stannon looked back levelly. "Yes. You are not, I am sure, going to be the last person to comment on it."

"My condolences," Zyan said. "_Anyway_, Donalla, could you spare me a couple minutes to, ah-" He shot a meaningful glance at Stannon, hoping he'd take the hint and wait outside.

"My instructions are to remain with you until you see the Guildmaster, CS Jarvis," Stannon demurred.

"You may wait outside, Mr. Bannon, this office has no secret exits that I am aware of," Donalla, bless her, said.

Stannon still looked a bit unsure of this, but nodded and reluctantly retreated back through the door.

"Okay then – what's up, Zyan, and why are you being..._shepherded_...to see Lars?" Donalla asked.

"Yeah, um, okay. As to question 2, no idea and it's hush-hush anyway. As to what's up, and before I say this I _swear_ I've been following the rules, I've, um, got a bit of memory loss," Zyan confessed.

Donalla frowned, and unshipped a bit of medical diagnostic gear from a belt pouch. "I believe you, or rather, I believe Aviczue and Marin would have unhesitatingly ratted you out if you _hadn't_ been. We're just coming out of Passover, though, and you've been up on Shankill in hibernation. You haven't had _time_ to suffer any aberration."

"It's more of a sort of ongoing background thing," Zyan explained. "I'm reliably informed I've been seeing someone and having conversations with them, but I can't for the life of me remember it."

Donalla walked in a circle around him, holding the sensor up to his head. "Well, I can guess who _that_ is about," she commented.

Zyan sighed. "There really isn't any such thing as a secret on Ballybran, is there?"

"Not when it comes to gossip, no," Donalla said. "Hmm – there's no evidence of neural trauma. What other gaps in your memory have you noticed?"

"Nothing," Zyan shrugged.

Donalla frowned. "Memory loss in singers is rarely so specific. With respect, Zyan, are you sure you're not just _trying_ to forget some uncomfortable interactions with Alenda that you'd rather hadn't happened?"

"No!" Zyan protested, but politely. "It's really not that. As far as I know, I spoke to Alenda up on Shankill just before Passover. We had a talk, called it quits before she went off-planet. Before that, well, we had a word about work stuff a few times but relationship-wise we'd been avoiding each other."

"Hmm. How many of these 'work-related' chats did you have?" Donalla asked.

Zyan tried to dig back through his memory. "I dunno, five, could be six."

"And what did you talk about?"

Zyan's brows furrowed. "Hmm, well, one time I think she asked if she could borrow Hollin for a day or two to go over some contracts – he's an ex-lawyer and quite a scary one, apparently. Once just generally how things were with the Locusts, once asking after Janso when he got hurt on that bloody blue claim that turned out to not be worth the bother, and, shards, I don't know, just general work stuff." He shrugged. "I seriously just don't remember it that well, I mean, they were just random quick conversations, a _normal_ person probably has and forgets hundreds of them every year."

"Not if they're with a very recent ex, Zyan. Even everyday ordinary interactions would be emotionally loaded," Donalla told him, lowering the medical scanner. "You're neurologically fine – my _prima facie_ opinion on the data I have right now is that your subconscious just doesn't want you to remember because you were in the middle of a bad breakup. Never underestimate the power of emotion over the human mind – crystal is nothing compared to what we _willingly_ do to our memories."

Zyan frowned. "Could you regress me? Have a riffle through and see if anything's, y'know, got filed in the wrong place?"

Donalla shook her head. "Remember when you came in about two years ago and we ran some in-depth neurological scans while I asked you questions?"

"Yeah - did I pass that exam? I never did ask."

"It wasn't that kind of an exam, Zyan. What it showed, very unequivocally, was that you are most decidedly _not_ a good candidate for regression. The habit of mentally protecting yourself must run deep in you," Donalla informed him.

"Yeah – blame Prot loyalty checks for that," Zyan answered gloomily. "Okay then, what's the Crystal Singer's deal? Doesn't she remember, like, _everything?"_

"That is something covered not only under doctor-patient confidentiality but also by Guild statute," Donalla said primly.

"And also by 'the Crystal Singer will be proper miffed' statute?" Zyan guessed.

"You're an _astute_ man, Zyan," Donalla quipped.

Zyan smiled politely. "Is there _anything_ you can try?"

Donalla shook her head. "Not really, I'm afraid. I did, at one stage, attempt regression during thrall, but the results were mixed, to say the least. My first test was a complete failure, and subsequent iterations with different subjects produced unpredictable results. _Some_ subjects claimed that they could access _some_ lost memories after thrall, but if they could, they chose not to share them with me – this was early on in Lars' reforms, I didn't have access to a group of co-operative and willing singers. To be frank, other avenues were far more worthy of research, and far less risky too."

Zyan filed that away for future reference, but made a show of sighing and nodding. "Okay. So probably I'm just looking at standard male emotional shardwittery rather than actual memory loss here?"

Donalla nodded. "There's nothing wrong with you that medicine can deal with, Zyan. My official prescription is fun and dating, repeat dosage until symptoms are gone," she informed him with mock seriousness.

"I'll bear that in mind, doctor," Zyan answered with a wry grin.

\- o O o -

Stannon insisted on corralling Zyan in a vacant office on the administration level, and emphasised that he was not to use the comm while he waited.

_Challenge accepted_, Zyan thought.

The office contained the standard catering slot almost all Guild offices were equipped with, but it was locked down to 'meeting drinks' only - tea and coffee and the like.

Zyan pretended not to understand this, and punched for a beer.

"Well, _I_ fancy a beer. You want one?" He asked Stannon.

"I don't believe that slot will dispense alcoholic beverages, Guildmember," Stannon answered.

"Soon fix that," Zyan said, and dug a diagnostic unit out of his tool belt.

Cube-wide systems with many remote terminals, like the network of catering slots, all piggybacked on the comms network to request orders, report faults and generally check in. For a bodger of Zyan's calibre it was child's play to tie into this and tap out a message in ancient morse code which would set the comunit in Shara's quarters to blinking. This might prove to be useful if a) she was actually in her quarters and b) she knew morse code. The first was pot luck, the second an educated guess on Zyan's part: morse code had enjoyed an extended second life as a surreptitious means of communication for malcontents across the galaxy. Usually that was encrypted with a pre-agreed cypher or one-time pad: Zyan hadn't foreseen the need to communicate secretly with anyone within the Cube, so was going to have to risk plaintext.

"Guildmember, I would really rather you didn't-" Stannon protested.

"Yeah, your objection to day drinks is duly noted, Stannon," Zyan replied with a fake sigh. "Live a little, man."

_ZYAN_, Zyan tapped out, using a control on the underside of the diagnostic unit so Stannon couldn't see.

He was in luck, and didn't even need to prompt her. Shara had presumably just been through the same rigmarole, knew what he wanted to know, and also knew he would have limited time and would be under surveillance: _SERIOUS FEDS STOP QUESTIONS STOP ALENDA STOP NO EXPLANATION STOP USE CAUTION_, came the reply. Zyan mentally translated it while making a series of irritated noises, pretending to wrestle with the catering slot's systems.

Interesting. Almost as an afterthought Zyan overrode the catering slot's protocols, snapped shut the diagnostic tool and dialled up a Yarran.

"Boom," he said, took the beer out of the slot and held it up in a toast to Stannon. "You sure you don't want one?"

"No, Guildmember," Stannon sighed.

Zyan trotted out the old 'singer metabolisms require a daily intake of certain nutrients including alcohol' excuse, which the relative newcomer clearly found suspect but decided not to take issue with. The pint was three-quarters sunk when Stannon's comm buzzed and he was informed that the Guildmaster and the Crystal Singer would see him now. Zyan stood up, glass in hand.

"Um, are you going to finish that?" Stannon asked.

"Get your own," Zyan told him facetiously.

"No, I mean, before you go in to see the Guildmaster and the Depu-, the Crystal Singer," Stannon clarified.

"I am _not_ rushing a Yarran," Zyan told him. In truth he would have delayed finishing the beer anyway – it was part of his plausible deniability for screwing about with the catering slot.

Stannon looked like he'd have liked to have rolled his eyes. "As you will, CS Jarvis. This way, if you please."

It took only moments to get to the Guildmaster's office. There was an overly-complicated handoff procedure in the antechamber, where Lined-face was waiting for them. Stannon briefed Lined-face – so silently that even Zyan couldn't hear it, but that wasn't an issue if you could lip-read - as to what they'd been doing. Zyan sipped his beer. Lined-face went inside, then re-emerged a few moments later.

"You are directed to enter," Lined-face said, holding open the door.

"Whoop-de-do," Zyan replied sourly, and entered. In truth he was afire with curiousity and could hardly wait to get inside.

Since the Chalice business, Zyan had met with the Guild's first couple twice, and on both occasions the atmosphere had been collegial, even casual. The subject had been the Locusts' working practices – the Guildmaster wanted to encourage their use by other singers, and had asked for a detailed briefing. They'd sat down together over tea and biscuits and had a chat.

Zyan could tell that this was not a tea and biscuits kind of meeting as soon as he walked in. Lars Dahl and Killashandra Ree were both dressed in dark, business-oriented clothing – with expressions to match. They were, as expected, not alone in their office – there were two other people in there with them. They both wore environmental suits – necessary for any off-worlder wishing to visit the surface and an indication that said off-worlder had a very, _very_ pressing reason to be there.

"CS Jarvis, we thank you for answering our summons so quickly. Please accept our apologies for pulling you off the ranges without notice and keeping you apart from your partners, but once you learn why I think you'll agree with us that it was necessary," Guildmaster Dahl said, by way of greeting. The Crystal Singer simply inclined her head in a regal nod, and raised her eyebrow at the glass of beer. Zyan replied with an infinitesimal shrug and a tilt of his head. The Guildmaster indicated a chair – Zyan steered his butt into it.

"No big deal, Guildmaster," he said, shifting into the same mental mode that had got him through any number of Prot interrogations in his previous life. He was on stage as CS Jarvis, helpful and professional guildmember in good standing of the Heptite Guild.

"These are Agents Moran and Saito of the FSP Sensitive Exigencies Branch," Dahl went on, indicating the two suited figures, a man and a woman. Serious Feds indeed: Zyan had been an FSP citizen only marginally longer than he'd been a crystal singer, but even he had heard of the FSP's Sensitive Exigencies Branch. Usually referred to simply as Exigency, and then in hushed tones, they were the smallest agency within the umbrella of the FSP, but also the most elite. They had no set function, but if Exigency agents were involved you could safely bet a lot of money that whatever was going on was both important and extremely tricky.

Moran's face twigged a neuron, and then Zyan recognised him: he'd seen him as he left Alenda's Shankill office to go to the Arrivals lounge, before Passover, accompanied by the grizzled older man. He was still a standard-issue Fed, clad in a grey shipsuit under the transparent environmental suit – short-cropped brown hair, regular features composed into an expressionless mask.

The woman, Saito, was a different kettle of fish – slim, striking, black-haired and clearly from one of the FSP planets with a strong oriental genotype. She had the patented Fed non-expression down to a fine art too, though.

"Please answer any and all questions they ask you fully and honestly. You are hereby permitted and directed under Paragraph 5 of Chapter 37 of Section 2 of the Heptite Guild Charter to discuss any aspect of the Scorian system, Ballybran, her satellites, and Heptite Guild business with them. _Any _aspect. Do you understand this, CS Jarvis?" Dahl asked.

"Yes sir," Zyan replied. _Someone's got a lot of clout_, he thought.

On the heels of that came the thought _'how much do they know about Alenda?'_ She was registered as an empath, largely to deflect any suspicion about her true abilities. Did these agents suspect Alenda could sense people's thoughts rather than their emotions? Had they been _told_, even?

Dahl and Ree knew about Alenda. Zyan took careful note of their faces – there was a tightness around the Guildmaster's eyes that belied his directive to be as open as possible, and although Killashandra Ree was as good or better than Shecherzia Alar at not giving anything away via body language or expression, Zyan doubted either of them would drop Alenda in it like that. Alenda was an actual relative of Lars Dahl – at a fair few removes, admittedly, but they acted more like uncle and niece than Guildmaster and Chief a lot of the time. He resolved to be very careful. _She's my ex, I know she's a registered empath although she doesn't practice as one, we've only spoken briefly to each other since we split up although we finally called it quits just before she went off-planet_, he briefed himself.

What followed was as thorough an interrogation as Zyan had ever experienced. Moran led the questioning in a clear bass voice – Saito would occasionally ask clarifying questions, and when she did, Moran would give her plenty of time to get whatever information she wanted before returning to his own line of questioning. They both made notes on data pads as they went along.

As expected, the questions were all about Alenda. The agents made no effort to disguise the object of their interest, and some of them got pretty personal. They covered how they'd met, where'd they'd gone together, what they'd done, why they'd split up – Saito in particular had a lot to ask about that. Quite a lot of time was spent on the Chalician installation, which worried Zyan somewhat as a fair amount of his activities during that operation had been grey-legal at best – Saito chimed in at that point, too, with a long series of follow-up questions. They were particularly interested in Zyan's final conversation with her, which again worried him, and again this prompted follow-up questions from Saito.

An old cell commander of Zyan's, from back in the early days of the Djielese revolution, had a favourite saying: 'Once is accident. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.'

One of the things about being a registered empath, Zyan knew from Alenda, was that you weren't allowed to keep it a secret. You weren't required to wear a sign round your neck, but if asked, an empath had to come clean about their gift.

Zyan interrupted the flow of questions: "Are you an empath?" He asked Saito straightforwardly.

"Yes," Saito answered simply, and then went on with her questioning. No blustering, no 'we're asking the questions' - just an acknowledgement and moving on.

It seemed, however, that once the jig was up neither Moran or Saito had much wish to continue, because after a few more questions of a cursory nature they wound things up.

"That will be all, CS Jarvis," Moran said, in closing.

"Yeah, not quite," Zyan replied. "You're not the only one with questions."

Moran looked at him. "The questioning in this room goes in one direction only, Guildmember – you've already discovered the single exception to this rule, so do not press this further."

"My friend went off planet under mysterious circumstances, and now not just the FSP but _Exigency_ turn up asking after her with an Empath, no less – there are what, maybe three or four hundred Empaths, galaxy wide? I'm guessing you guys don't roll out this particular red carpet for anything less than an A-list catastrophe, so...is my friend in danger, Agents?"

"That information is not available, Guildmember," Saito answered, "and you are forbidden, under the FSP Secrecy Act, from discussing this session with anyone except for authorised Sensitive Exigencies Branch operatives and, if there are any follow up questions, the Guild personnel currently involved." Saito indicated the Crystal Singer and the Guildmaster with a wave of his hand.

"The penalties for non-compliance are severe, and apply even on Ballybran," Moran added.

"That'd be a yes, then," Zyan snorted.

"CS Jarvis," Dahl interjected. "these agents aren't at liberty to tell you anything. You know the kind of work that Alenda undertook for this Guild on behalf of the FSP – you've been involved yourself – and those arrangements are secret. She knew this when she accepted the assignment. As you've already noted, the FSP have their very best people on this. You're going to have to content yourself with that, I'm afraid."

Contenting himself with things wasn't exactly Zyan's strong suit, but even he could see that he wasn't going to discover anything further by sitting here giving Exigency a hard time.

"Fine," he said, standing up to leave. He paused in the doorway, did a quick sum, and looked back at the agents. "I make it 64 days since Alenda broke orbit – out of 200 before she has to be back: maybe even less, as she isn't a singer. Clock's ticking. If the 'very best people' turn out to be not quite good enough to meet that deadline, you know where to find me. _Don't_ make me come and find you."

Dahl looked like he was about to say something, but the Crystal Singer laid a hand on his arm.

Saito said nothing, but Moran looked at him levelly. "Your meaning is clear, Guildmember Jarvis."


	2. Chapter 2

Aviczue would tell him not to take unnecessary risks, Marin would tell him that the proper authorities were already handling things. Zyan didn't want to hear that, so he went straight to Shara.

Out of all the Locusts, only Zyan knew the full extent of Alenda's unique adaptation to the Ballybran spore, but he was willing to bet that Shara entertained a few suspicions. Shara, like Zyan, had spent her formative years as part of an underground organisation, constantly on the alert for the secret (and not so secret) police. In that situation, paranoia was a trusted advisor rather than a mental aberration: you consulted it regularly, and if it told you something didn't vibe right, then if you were smart you took it seriously. She already knew Alenda was ex-FSP Intelligence and that her Guild remit went more than a bit beyond legal matters – she trained with her in the dojo and wouldn't be willing to simply chalk up Alenda's unerring blocking skills to good hearing. Shara might not know _what_ Alenda had going for her, but she'd know she had some sort of hidden advantage, and if she hadn't mentioned it yet then it was only out of politeness and friendship. For all Zyan knew she _had_ said something and Alenda had asked her to keep it quiet.

Whether she had or not, Shara was the best person to talk to right now. Zyan didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew he had to do _something_. He'd also been listening to his own pet paranoia, and it was telling him that something was out of whack – not just with the visit from Exigency but over the past few months.

Zyan swung past his own quarters quickly to dig something out of a drawer, then headed for Shara's. She must have been waiting for him, because the panel slid aside mere seconds after he pressed the entry chime, and she beckoned him inside with a quick jerk of her head.

Inside, she pointed at the ceiling. Zyan dug what he'd collected from his own quarters out of his pocket: a jamming device. He'd borrowed it from Alenda before the Chalice trip, so he could talk to Shecherzia without being monitored, and never quite got around to handing it back. Personal quarters were guaranteed private by the Guild, like everywhere else in the FSP, but when Exigency were bandying empathic agents around all bets were best assumed to be thoroughly off.

"That work?" Shara asked.

"Yep," Zyan replied.

"Good. What's your plan for finding our friend?" She asked bluntly, not bothering with any niceties such as asking him to sit down or 'hello'.

"No plan, thought I'd talk to you about that, but before we do anything else I need to check something with you," Zyan said.

"What?" She asked.

"My memory. Before Alenda left but after we stopped seeing each other, how long was that?" Zyan asked.

"There are bigger issues right now than whether you and Ale-" Shara started.

Zyan held up a hand. "This could be about way more than my sharding love life, humour me, okay?"

"Okay, but get to the point quickly. Seven or eight months," Shara answered.

"During which time I can recall maybe a half dozen brief, work related interactions with Alenda, and one longer relationship talk where we agreed to move on," Zyan said.

"Then you've been breaking the rules on cutting, packing or both," Shara said, and snorted. "You've been in and out of each other's quarters more than once and you've had that 'relationship talk' innumerable times."

"Your memories and mine do not match, then. Hang on, how do you know she's been in and out of my place and vice versa?" Zyan asked, eyes narrowing.

Shara looked back quite calmly. "I like to follow people without their noticing, learn their habits, routines and any weaknesses."

"Of _course_ you do," Zyan sighed.

"Just keeping my hand in," Shara replied with a rare smile.

"Yeah, but why _me?_ We're friends, right?"

"Take it as a compliment: you were in the trade, you're wary, hence you make for the best practice," Shara explained, then frowned. "Shecherzia's suprisingly situationally aware, too. Must have been dodging all those paparazzi when she was a big deal."

"Whatever. If you're right, then I'm missing a few memories," Zyan said.

"I _am_ right. Go see Donalla, get checked out. I don't want people I can tolerate being around for more than an hour getting brain-damaged by crystal," Shara told him, in what was by her standards a highly emotional declaration of friendly concern.

"Already done – she gave me a clean bill of neurological health. Whatever's wrong, it isn't caused by crystal resonance. And Exigency just put me in a room with an empath."

It was Shara's turn to narrow her eyes. "You noticed him too then."

Zyan blinked. "No, it was the woman," he replied.

Shara's eyes widened again. "Both of them," she said.

"So it would seem," Zyan agreed. "You know how many registered empaths there are?"

"Fewer than there are active singers, I expect," Shara guessed.

"Not looking it up right now, all things considered, but I reckon you're right. Whatever's going on must be top-level scary, if they've got not one but two empaths on the case, and- Hang on, why didn't you tell me one of them was an empath?" Zyan interrupted himself to ask.

"Because he'd – they'd – know if you were forewarned about that," Shara told him, "which would incriminate _both_ of us."

Zyan considered it. "Yeah, I would've made the same call," he agreed. "Anyway, point is, the situation must be fairly desperate, and has been for some time: Moran – he was with an older looking guy - met with Alenda on Shankill, before Passover: I'm assuming he recruited her for an offworld assignment: one which went south."

"Yeah, that part I can figure out for myself. If you don't mind me bringing you back to the sharding point, what are we going to _do_ about it?" Shara asked, impatient.

"You're going to help me interrogate someone who's withholding information from me," Zyan told her.

Shara smiled in a slightly alarming fashion. "Now you're talking my language. A few slivers of crystal under his fingernails ought to loosen him up a bit," she mused.

"Shara! Shards! That's a bit extreme!" Zyan recoiled.

Shara pursed her lips for a moment, looked upwards, then back to Zyan. "I was...joking?" She offered.

"Were you?"

"Would you believe yes?"

"No, I wouldn't."

Shara exhaled. "Not much point lying about it then. Was kinda hoping you were talking about Vander, if that helps."

"Not really. We need to have a few words about proportional responses, Shara. _Again_," Zyan told her.

"Okay _dad_," Shara replied in the tone of a put upon teenager. "I'll behave. Who are we having a word with?"

"Me," Zyan informed her, "and you're driving."

\- o O o -

Before Zyan had been able to set foot in the ranges, he'd had to marshal the rest of class 1999 into a repair squad and fix up a damaged airsled. Flight Officer Murr had acquired a few more staff and resources by the time Shara joined up, so she'd been issued with a brand new, squeaky clean sled. She evidently took care of her equipment, because although the exterior bore the scuffs and dents that the ranges had inflicted, the interior was spotlessly clean and undamaged. Like Zyan, Shara had installed a passenger seat – from which Zyan had a good view of the arsenal which she'd also installed in neat racks above the controls – a metal cudgel, a compound bow and a very large knife with an ornate handle and an odd, curved blade.

"You do know you're a little bit scary, Shara, right?" Zyan asked.

"On the contrary, Zyan, I'm simply a sports and cookery enthusiast," Shara informed him airily.

Zyan sighed. "Go on then, give me the explanation," he said.

"Delighted to," Shara replied. "Unlike certain people who shall remain Zyan, I didn't bring an illegal firearm with me when I joined the Guild."

"There's no official record of that...that _exceptionally_ well disguised bit of weaponry," Zyan interjected, "and who told you about it anyway?"

"Vitzy," Shara explained. "For some reason she seemed to think I might have followed suit."

Zyan eyed the weapons. "I wonder why."

"Shush," Shara said. "However, Guildmembers are not only allowed but encouraged to continue any leisure pursuits they enjoyed before joining. I was a big fan of baseball, archery and also Zentaran cuisine."

"Okay, the archery excuse almost – _almost_ – holds water. What the hell is _baseball_?" Zyan asked.

"Dane told me about it. You hit a ball with that club and run in a circle or something," Shara said.

"Yeah, _clearly_ you were a massive devotee of the sport, your subject knowledge is beyond reproach," Zyan said, unconvinced. "And the hoofing great machete?"

"_That_," Shara said, "is a traditional Zentaran butcher's knife, used for skinning and preparing _hridzak_ oxen. A galactic delicacy, very renowned for their unique flavour. They're ten feet tall at the shoulders, so you need a serious kitchen knife," Shara said.

"Okay – and they need to be in your sled _why?_"

"You're not the only one who can task Hollin with looking into points of Guild law, you know. Guildmembers are entitled to keep their personal belongings in their sled or in their quarters or in Guild storage. These are my personal sporting and cooking items which I choose to keep in my sled," Shara explained. "All above board and legal."

Zyan considered it. "Okay, I'm convinced."

"Thank you – I do consider things first, you know. Sure you don't want to reconsider _this_ little outing?"

Zyan shook his head. "You'd think, wouldn't you, but no. It's a one-off, mind you – I'm not making a habit out of it."

"I should sharding well think so," Shara replied.

They landed just under an hour later at a Locust claim – a site called Yellow 2. It's chief utility to them at the moment was that it was the syndicate's closest site. It was a small one, covered up and insulated – yellow crystal was currently overstocked, so the Locusts had bigger fish to fry: if market conditions changed or, heavens forbid, they ran out of anything else to cut, then they'd return to it.

The common sense is-someone-following-me tradecraft of Zyan and Shara notwithstanding, the Locusts prided themselves on _not_ being crystal-mazed paranoid delusional maniacs: but neither were they stupid. A few moments before reaching the claim's exact co-ordinates, Shara set the sled's scanners to maximum and did a slow circle, giving the horizon the once over for any other singers. This was pretty much standard procedure by now.

"Clear," Zyan said, fiddling with the gain on the sled's sensor package.

Shara reached over and slapped his hand away. "Don't touch my stuff. Do I touch your stuff?"

"You've never been in my sled," Zyan said defensively, rubbing his hand automatically despite the lack of pain.

"I've _looked_ in your sled. That was quite enough to persuade me to never travel in it," Shara wrinkled her nose. "I've also smelled it."

Zyan winced. "That's fair – I've swapped out several bits of the interior but I still can't figure out where that smell's coming from."

"That probably means it's coming from _you_ then," Shara pointed out.

"You're in a lovely mood this morning," Zyan told her.

Shara shot him a look as they descended. "I don't particularly want to be doing this, Zyan. It's totally batshards and you know it."

"Only game in town, looks like," Zyan replied.

"We could follow the Exigency agents," Shara said.

"And how are we going to do that? Fake moustaches and hats?"

"You and I both know how to fake an FSP ID," Shara replied.

"Granted, but I don't know how to fake a _mind_," Zyan answered. "They're empaths – even if we somehow managed to tail them through Shankill security and somehow got aboard whatever ship they're on, they'd know they were being followed. This is the only move we can make."

Shara snorted. "Yeah – but like I say, I don't particularly want to be doing it. Hence you get grumpy snappy Shara 'til it's over," Shara confessed.

"Grumpy snappy Shara is much better than no Shara," Zyan replied.

"Don't get all emotional on me, Jarvis," Shara answered.

The sled touched down – they both checked the co-ordinate readout and the weather, an automatic reflex.

Yellow 2 was a very short scramble up a slope from where Shara had landed – Shara took a crate and Zyan's cutter; Zyan toted a larger, cruder bit of equipment that laboured under the unwieldy title of General Purpose Excavation Device, but which Tornaz had christened the gauntlet, after it's similarity to an ancient knight's armoured glove. Essentially it was an economy size pickaxe and shovel rolled into one. It covered the user's arm up to the elbow – turn it on, and your hand became a mini-backhoe, capable of drilling and cutting through rock, then shifting it out of the way, with minimal physical effort. Only the Locusts used them – most singers didn't even know the Guild possessed such items.

In a pinch, you could also use it to punch a hole through a plascrete wall or tear your way through a sled door – but that hadn't come up as a use-case yet.

Once they were at the top of the slope, Zyan ignored the tingle of nearby crystal and used it to first cut a level shelf for the pair to stand on, and then to wrench away the amalgam of rubble and plasfoam that protected the claim. Uncovered once more, the crystal pinged and crackled at his senses. He ignored it's blandishments, and concentrated on wrestling the unwieldy mass to one side - they'd probably be able to glue it back in again afterwards.

Yellow 2 was a small nubbin of crystal, the furthest extremity of what Dane (who'd found it) had opined to be a sizeable vein. Yellow was good for multiple industrial and technical uses, but they tended to be specialist applications that didn't come up very often: hence the lamentable market price for the relatively uncommon shade.

Zyan traded Shara the gauntlet for his cutter. He removed his gloves, sang and pitched the face: F sharp.

"How long?" Shara asked.

"No sharding clue," Zyan replied. "What say we start with a minute and tweak from there?"

"No way," Shara shook her head. "Five seconds."

"Ten?" Zyan countered, although his common sense was saying 'zero' and the crystal was saying 'forever'.

"Okay, ten," Shara agreed reluctantly. "Cut."

Zyan nodded, sang, and cut. He was, by now, as accustomed to the scream of crystal as he was ever going to get – but the sensation was always jarring and horrible. This time out, there wasn't even the consolation that subsequent cuts would be more bearable: he only needed one shaft.

He killed power to the cutter and handed it back to Shara, leaving the crystal in situ for the moment. Conveniently, the sun was streaming in from behind him: he turned around so he could lean back against the rough stone beneath the exposed crystal, then reached up for the shaft of yellow.

"Here goes no-" He started to say.

"What the _shard_ were you thinking, Zyan?" Donalla was asking him.

"Donalla? What are you doing here?" Zyan blinked. He was horizontal. _Did I fall over? _His voice was rasping, rough.

"You're in the infirmary, Zyan," the medic supplied, waving a diagnostic wand around his head. "Shara brought you in. You thralled."

"Yes, we were-" Zyan began.

"Checking out a new yellow site, and this genius forgot his gloves _again_," Shara chirped in.

Zyan's brain finally finished whatever reboot sequence it'd been running through and slammed the brakes on his imminent confession.

"I'm such an idiot," he said instead, glad that his voice was hoarse: it masked the lie.

"Yes, you are. You're supposed to be one of the _smart_ singers, Zyan," Donalla chided him.

Zyan remembered that he'd thralled before, and _not_ ended up in the medical wing. He turned his head to face Shara. "Could you not get me out of it?"

"Keep still," Donalla said, moving his head back around like an overly insistent barber. "No, she couldn't snap you out of it, and _that_ worries me. Thrall can be ended by a number of things – the sun going down, the thralled singer dropping the crystal, their partner taking it out of their hands. Shara took away the crystal and even administered a number of physical blows, but it's taken some pretty potent stimulants to bring you out of it."

"The punching bit was kind of satisfying, though," Shara smirked.

"Shaz! This is serious!" Donalla said sharply.

"Sorry, Dee," Shara replied meekly.

"Shaz? Dee?" Zyan asked.

Shara shrugged. "Me and Dee train together. We're friends and we have nicknames."

"How come nobody else calls you Shaz?" Zyan asked.

Shara repeated the shrug. "Other people _do, _just not you."

"And where are you finding the time for all this physical exercise?" Zyan asked. Shara shrugged.

"Moving on," Donalla hinted.

"Yes let's," Zyan agreed. "How long _have_ I been out?"

"At this point, just over two hours. People have thralled for longer, but not when someone was on hand to physically break it. This shouldn't have happened," Donalla said, consulting her readouts and frowning. "I may have been a bit too dismissive of your concerns earlier today."

"Has your diagnosis changed?" Zyan asked.

"No – things are a bit frazzled in there from the thrall, but there's still nothing to indicate neurological trauma," Donalla shook her head. "It doesn't make sense."

"Since when was crystal, the spore, singers or Ballybran in general required to make sense, Donalla?" Asked a voice from the doorway. The Crystal Singer.

"Crystal Singer," Zyan said.

"CS Ree," Shara said, with a nod.

"Hey Killa," said Donalla.

She entered the room with a smile for Donalla and a frown for Zyan and Shara. "Is your patient in a condition for a...quick chat, Donalla?" The Crystal Singer asked, imbuing 'a quick chat' with ominous overtones.

"I've no excuse to keep him laying on a diagnostic bed – I can't find anything wrong, either now or earlier on, and _that's_ the entire problem," Donalla said. "The only thing I can prescribe is some time away from the ranges."

"I've literally just got back from hibernation on Shankill," Zyan said.

"I know – but there's nothing else I _can_ recommend," Donalla said helplessly, then noted that the Crystal Singer was waiting. "I'll give you some privacy," she said.

Donalla headed to the door. Shara got up to follow, but the Crystal Singer held up a hand. "You can stay, CS Ferozacorazon." Her pronunciation of Shara's multisyllabic second name gave her no trouble at all, it seemed.

Shara paused. "Okay. Do I _have_ to?"

"I think you do, yes," the Crystal Singer answered, closing the door and hitting the privacy button behind Donalla.

She stared at the two singers for a good few moments. Zyan levered himself up and off the bed. He felt fine – if somewhat pinned under the Crystal Singer's assessing gaze.

"Um, if you're going to, CS Ree, could you crack on with giving us a bollocking? It's getting a bit tense in here," he said.

"The Troublesome Twosome, they call you in admin," the Crystal Singer finally said. "There's an unofficial pool going, by the way, on which of you will generate the most complaints from other singers by next passover."

"Who was it last time?" Shara interjected.

"Zyan," CS Ree said.

"Oh," Shara looked disappointed. "I'll have to up my game."

"Not on my account, please," the Crystal Singer responded, then exhaled in a sigh. "Are you okay, Zyan?"

"So I'm told by Donalla," Zyan replied.

"Do you _feel_ okay?" She amended her question.

Zyan opened his mouth to say yes, then closed it. "Where is this going?"

"Lars and I do genuinely worry about you, Zyan. You too," she included Shara. "It's not putting it overly dramatically to say that you two saved the Guild."

"We didn't save the Guild, okay, we were part of a team that helped to avert a crisis but I'm sure you and Lars would've been able to-" Zyan started.

"For current purposes of avoiding a bollocking can we agree that yes, we saved the Guild?" Shara interrupted him with a raised eyebrow and a sharp elbow.

"Good point, we saved the Guild. Can this be a 'jolly well done' rather than a chewing out?" Zyan asked.

"We're worried about you, Zyan. Lars and I know that you – both of you – care about Alenda a great deal. Now Donalla tells me that you were in here asking about memory loss, and one interrogation by FSP agents later, you show up having thralled yourself," Killashandra said. "Is there anything you'd like to share with me?"

"How did you know I-" Zyan started to protest.

"Because I'm not stupid, Zyan, I can put two and two together and get four. You had yourself checked out by Donalla – in advance of a Guild summons – and asked her about regression. She tells you you're not a good candidate for it, but she lets slip that she once experimented with regression via thrall. A few hours later you're in the infirmary suffering from an unusual case of thrall having cut precisely _one_ shaft of crystal from the claim that you can get to quickest," Killashandra told him, exasperatedly.

"She's right, we really didn't cover our tracks very well on this one," Shara shook her head. "We're getting sloppy."

"What have you forgotten, Zyan?" Killashandra asked him directly. "What are you trying to remember and what does it have to do with Alenda?"

"Okay, since we're apparently in confessional now," he shot a glance at Shara, who looked completely unapologetic, "I don't _know_ what, if anything, I've forgotten. But you asked me how I feel and _something_ doesn't feel right. Shara feels the same way."

Killashandra looked at Shara, who nodded. "Something is off," she confirmed.

"Lars and I agree," Killashandra said. "Everything else aside, Exigency don't show up unless a situation is well past normal. That's no excuse to go off attempting reckless stunts in the ranges, however."

"And we're back to the telling off," Zyan said.

"_This_ is friendly concern. You'll know when I'm telling you off, young man," Killashandra told him sternly.

"Yes ma'am," Zyan agreed. "Sorry. Should I go to my room until I've thought about what I've done?"

"Don't push your luck," the Crystal Singer cautioned him.

"Sorry," Zyan apologised again. "Um, should we be discussing this? Exigency were pretty specific that we shouldn't?"

"We are Hepite Guildmembers, CS Jarvis. The _Guild_ will decide what can and cannot be discussed amongst it's own. The FSP may make as much noise as it wishes about secrecy, but we have our rights. So – did it work?" Killashandra asked.

"Um, did what work?" Zyan asked, confused.

"Thralling yourself," she clarified. "Any memories you didn't have access to before?"

Zyan had to stop and think about that one. "How would I even know?"

"Believe you me, Zyan, you'd know," the Crystal Singer said.

"Did – did you try it?" Shara asked.

"She did," Zyan said, taking a sudden guess, "Donalla's early test subject was _you_, and it didn't work."

Killashandra nodded. "You're right on both counts. It didn't work."

Zyan narrowed his eyes. "But you've got total and perfect recall of everything that ever happened to you – at least if scuttlebutt is to be believed."

"I arrived at that via a different route," Killashandra answered. "Now, for the record: is there anything you have recalled that we should tell Moran and Saito?" Killashandra asked.

Zyan shook his head. "Sweet shard all," he admitted.

"Shara? Did you try this too?" Killashandra asked.

Shara shook her head. "I was just there to make sure he didn't get dead," she said.

"And a good thing too," Killashandra said. "Given Donalla's prescription, I am sending you – both of you – off Ballybran. You need to be kept out of trouble for a while."

"With all due respect, Crystal Singer, we haven't broken any rules or regs. You can't order us up to Shankill," Zyan protested.

"Who said anything about Shankill?" The Crystal Singer asked. "I have an off-planet assignment for you. I just don't think Ballybran is the right place for you right now – you're only going to cause trouble here, not accomplish anything. Your talents could, on the other hand, come in very useful elsewhere right now."

Zyan again opened his mouth to protest, but Shara silenced him with another unobtrusive elbow. "What kind of assignment, CS Ree?" She asked.

"I suppose it's best characterised as a diplomatic mission. To be exact, I'm sending you to check in with some old friends of mine – extend the hand of friendship, get in touch and keep in contact," Killashandra said, then looked intently at Zyan. "Think you can do that?"

"This isn't a choice thing, is it?" Zyan asked.

The Crystal Singer smiled at him. "No, CS Jarvis: but you _will_ get paid."

\- o O o -

The Crystal Singer told them that they'd be briefed on their assignment en-route, and gave them instructions to be on the next shuttle to Shankill (which was in just over thirty minutes). She then disappeared off to make arrangements, which would include the storage of their sleds and cutters.

"I'm not liking the idea of being sent off planet just when I need to be here," Zyan growled to Shara.

Shara sighed. "I'll give you a minute to catch up," she said. "Come with me."

She left. Zyan grabbed his jacket and followed her out into the corridor and to the lifts. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It isn't very private out here," Shara said, and pointed meaningfully at his jacket, where he had put the jammer.

The lift arrived - conveniently empty. Zyan flicked on the jammer once they were inside.

Shara prudently waited a few heartbeats for the jammer to power up before speaking. "You've said it yourself – we can't follow the Exigency agents, they'd sense it. That ship has probably sailed anyway, _literally_ – they certainly wouldn't want to hang around on Ballybran in environment suits, and they've almost certainly got a fast vessel at their disposal. If there is, somehow, some information about Alenda's assignment locked up in your head then we don't have the capability to access it, so that's a dead end."

"Alenda could have left records saying where she is," Zyan objected.

"Do you want to try and break through information security that _Alenda_ put in place? You _have_ damaged your head," Shara snorted. "Besides, she's a professional spook and an FSP insider. If Exigency said no records then she'd leave no records."

"Which leaves us nowhere," Zyan grunted in dissatisfaction.

"No, which leaves us being sent somewhere mysterious by the Crystal Singer to 'check in with some old friends of hers'," Shara reminded him.

Zyan caught up: the penny dropped: "Which is a little bit convenient," he said, eyes narrowing.

"And he's back in the room," Shara commented, with a martyred glance at the lift's ceiling. "You'll recall that she just had a very public conversation with us in a room equipped with medical sensors which presumably record everything happening in there, one which she wanted on the record to say that a) it's up to the Guild what we can discuss amongst ourselves and b) we're being sent off planet to keep us out of trouble rather than chase after your ex. She's just handed us political cover to work together on this and simultaneously covered the Heptite Guild from any fallout. She's _good,_" Shara commented, admiringly.

"You think she's..shepherding us towards something?"

"What I _think_ is that it's fifty-fifty whether she has an agenda which aligns with ours and is giving us an opportunity to pursue it or she really is shuttling us out of the way so we don't create a stink with the FSP, and just doing so in a way which makes us _believe_ she's subtly steering us in the right direction so we obligingly go along with it. What I _know_ is we haven't got much choice but to carry out the assignment anyway. What I _hope_ is that if we can steer clear of Vitzy for," Shara checked her wrist unit, "twenty nine minutes then we can avoid getting an earful from her about your crazy behaviour and my enabling it, and having to explain why we're being temporarily exiled."

Zyan agreed wholeheartedly about the last part. Aviczue was a close friend, but wouldn't stand for what she would see as a dangerous stunt carried out to aid illegal behaviour. She was, after all, an ex-copper.

"Doing her a favour, really. She wouldn't want to break any FSP rules by discussing Exigency, after all, and if we bump into her that's almost unavoidable," Zyan opined.

"Thought you'd see it my way. Need anything from your quarters?" Shara asked.

Zyan put his jacket back on – it was tough, hardwearing clothing for the ranges, armour by any other name, and he already had his toolbelt and the jamming device. The disguised stunner, regrettably, was now just a memory. "I can get everything I need in the commissary on Shankill."

"Good. I just need to swing past my sled," Shara said.

"You're getting tooled up for this trip off planet, aren't you?" Zyan asked suspiciously.

"Hey! Zero-G archery is a thing," Shara protested.

"Maybe, but I reckon you'll have a harder time explaining that massive knife," Zyan opined.

"Oh, don't worry. I have travel knives," Shara dismissed the problem with an airy wave.

\- o O o -

When the Heptite Guild decided you were going off planet at short notice, they didn't muck about. A crack team of Guild admin types had clearly been mobilised the instant the Crystal Singer left the infirmary, had an ultra-fast project management meeting and then split into dedicated task-based teams in order to streamline the process of getting Zyan and Shara off the surface with minimal drag. Either that, or they'd made a special effort in order to get the Troublesome Twosome out of their hair for a while.

Whatever the motivation, there was a pair of matt-black streamlined backpacks, a pair of folders and a pair of antigrav crates sporting the Heptite Guild dodecahedron waiting for Shara and Zyan by the shuttle pad, with a pair of Guild functionaries standing guard over it all. The crates were broadcasting a complex blend of crystal tell-tales – there was even a bit of black in the mix.

"Singers," one of the functionaries greeted them as they arrived, smoothly moving into a memorised speech, "we have taken the liberty of preparing a bag of clothing, toiletries, personal communication devices and other travel essentials for you appropriate to the nature of this assignment."

The bags were duly proffered.

"Here are your Heptite Guild IDs, including access to the Session of the Federated Sentient Planets. It is not anticipated that this will be required for the assignment, but such authority is standard."

The folders were handed over.

"These crates," the man explained next, "contain samples of crystal in various shades which will require installation in the course of your assignment. Although only CS Jarvis has carried out installations before, the Crystal Singer assures me that no specific technical knowledge or expertise is required in this particular instance."

At a synchronised gesture from the two Guildspeople, the crates swished forward to hover behind Zyan and Shara.

"Finally, the Crystal Singer wishes to emphasise that this is a very important assignment, and furthermore one which is personally important to her. She has asked me to tell you that she has full confidence in you both, and to wish you a successful voyage."

"Thanks," Zyan replied. "That's nice: any idea _what_, exactly, we're supposed to be doing?"

The Guild drones evinced no surprise at this question. "That information has not been vouchsafed to us, CS Jarvis."

"Do you have any information as to transport after we get to Shankill?" Shara asked her admin type.

"A B&B ship has volunteered for this assignment," the man answered.

"The _CM1244?_" Zyan asked, even though he knew it was unlikely. Marcus and Chaka were out on the rim of known space, going where no-one had gone before with the FSP Exploration and Evaluation Corps. He envied them a little: crystal singers couldn't venture more than 100 days' travel from Ballybran without signing their own death warrants, and even then they'd have to immediately turn around and head straight back.

Alenda was currently facing such a deadline, Zyan remembered.

"This ship has no such designation that we are aware of," his handler answered. "Shankill Authority will direct you as required."

Zyan simply nodded, abruptly wanting to just _go_. "Okay, whatever. Anything else?"

The man shook his head. "No, CS Jarvis. Have a good journey."

His counterpart repeated these sentiments, leaving Zyan and Shara to board the shuttle: they were the last to do so.

This close to the end of Passover, there were only a few other passengers: a trio from Marketing, business-suited and armed with data pads, pencil files and a sure and certain faith in the Guild's monopoly on crystal, off to do battle with invading buyers. Deep in mercantile discussions, they ignored the singers after a single glance up as they boarded. Zyan gave them a cursory nod, just for form's sake. Moran and Saito must have already left. Shara was right: the few people that ever visited the surface never tarried long on Ballybran, where a single tear in your environment suit could turn you into a permanent resident – _if_ you were lucky.

Zyan and Shara both inventoried the contents of their Guild-issue backpacks during the trip up: they'd been issued practical clothing – nothing formal, which Zyan thought a bit odd for a diplomatic mission. Besides a wash kit, they each had a small personal communicator, an unobtrusive model which fit within the ear. When Zyan touched his, he experienced a mild but familiar tingle. Black crystal.

The black crystal comunits he'd 'borrowed' for his jaunt to Chalice had been small, but nowhere near as small as this. They must have taken some engineering. He knew from Tornaz that there was a hard minimum limit on how small a comcrystal could be and still retain the ability to transmit and receive over useful distances. Black could be smaller than say, green, in this regard, but this device must be hardly any bigger than the crystal at it's heart. That probably indicated a limited power supply – Clarend the Cutter Technician was a veritable genius with neolithium batteries and microfusion reactors, but there were limits. Zyan rated it was quite likely the miracle earbug only had a few hours' life in it – he wondered how you went about recharging it.

"Got one of these?" He asked Shara.

"I've got two," she answered. "Black?" Shara's adaptation had been a very good one, but she did not share his sensitivity to that shade.

"Yep. Someone wants our conversations to be convenient and private – and to include a third person if we want."

"Thoughtful of the Crystal Singer," Shara remarked, and they both knew what she meant.

"Limited range, limited battery life, I suspect – but this is serious kit," he explained. "Better than what we had on Chalice."

"Than what _you_ had," Shara replied with a slightly accusatory tone. Zyan hadn't revealed his team's capabilities to Shara and her friends in the Chalician People's Front until quite late in the operation, and his lack of forthrightness hadn't gone down brilliantly well.

"Are you ever letting that go?" He asked, with a pained expression.

"Couple centuries' time, maybe," Shara replied with a sniff, then returned to finding a way to stash her bow case in her backpack.

Shankill was a shadow of it's usual busy self – the base largely emptied after Passover, when Guild staff riding out the storms in orbit returned to the surface. Crystal buyers had not yet appeared in large numbers – they would only start to become evident in the coming weeks, building to a head just before the next Passover meant the supply of fresh-cut crystal dried up.

A Shankill Authority rep was at the lock to meet them.

"Guildmembers," he greeted them politely. "The _BX Are We There Yet?_ is docked at lock 13 waiting for you, if you'd care to accompany me. I was told time is of the essence, so we'll step right along. Can I take anything for you?"

"Um, no. The BX what again?" Zyan asked.

The port rep looked faintly embarrassed. "I'm told he's been solo for a while, and, well, he does have his little ways," the man explained, unhelpfully.

They followed the man through Shankill's maze of corridors to lock 13, which appeared to be guarded by some sort of hovering robot. It was bright chrome, vaguely human-formed, with a pair of three-fingered arms hanging by it's sides and no legs. It had no head or neck to speak of – instead it was topped by a smooth dome, with a pair of glowing 'eyes' complete with eyebrows and a straight slash for a mouth. As they approached, it turned. The eyes switched from white to green, and the straight line curved up into a green smile.

"Crystal singers!" It greeted them, in a pleasant baritone. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm Brendan, well, this drone isn't me – CS Jarvis, Killa said you're not a B&B ship first timer (I met Marcus and Chaka once, by the way, lovely people, I do hope they're enjoying the wild frontier) but I'm probably not what you're used to – I'm a standard brain-in-a-box but I'm trying a few new things, including slightly more personable drones than the standard, run-of-the-mill remotes."

Brendan seemed to be a chatty and personable sort. The drone extended both hands for them to shake and, when they both proved to be right-handed, one of it's hands seamlessly reconfigured to make itself shakeable from the opposite direction. This amused Zyan, for some reason, and he gave vent to a small but delighted chuckle as they shook hands.

"Neat trick," he said.

"Basic engineering," the Brendan-drone replied. "I adapted this drone from a standard baggage-handling model. On which note, may I take your bags?"

A second drone of a similar design emerged from the lock to present itself to Shara. Both singers handed over their backpacks.

"Well then, I'll bid you a good journey, singers," the Shankill rep said, looking somewhat lost.

"My most effusive thanks, good sir," one of the drones said to the man, executing a formal mid-air bow.

"Yes, thank you very much," said the other in a slightly higher-pitched voice, turning to face him – it's features turned green as it did so.

The rep blinked. "Um, you're welcome," he said, then not-quite fled back the way he'd come.

"What a peculiar fellow," Zyan's drone remarked, features turning green again.

Shara's drone turned to face it – the two drones' features swapped colours, white to green. "He seemed very nice to me," it replied.

"Oh of course," the first drone agreed, then both drones turned back to face the singers. "We agree on everything," they said in unison, both with green features.

Shara looked very nearly as freaked out as the Shankill rep, although for Shara this manifested as a hard frown. Zyan's techie brain was running over concepts, though.

"I'm thinking you're not running these in parallel, unless you've figured out how to multi-thread your own brain," he said, "so either they've got limited autonomy and they're executing a pre-prepared script or you're, really, _really_ good at switching between drones."

"Check out the big brain on CS Jarvis," Zyan's drone said. "I was warned about you – in a good way, naturally. It's a bit of both – oh, please follow me, by the way, and I'll show you to your quarters while we talk. My drones are indeed AIs – pink crystal does have it's uses, despite the common contempt I understand it to be held in – but they don't have much in the way of chat most of the time. I can piggyback on them when I so wish and I'm getting quite good at jumping back and forth and even running them concurrently. For the convenience of passengers, any drone under my direct control lights up green, so you know when you're talking to the organ grinder rather than the monkeys."

Brendan explained his innovations while he guided them aboard. Practising with more than one drone at a time seemed to be bleeding over into other areas of his life, because he rarely talked about just one thing during any given exchange, it seemed.

"I used to have a number, of course, but when my last partner Boira got hitched and moved on – nothing dramatic, I visit often, she's a grandmother now, obviously I tease her mercilessly about it – I started to get a bit bored with just being the _BX1066_. Anyway, I'd been doing a bit of reading and happened across a pre-space Terran author with a very offbeat take on sentient ships and tech. Yours truly here happens to be the fastest thing currently plying the spaceways, thanks to a few things I learnt while rescuing your Guildmaster from a Singularity twist, oh, twenty or so years back now – terrible business, he very nearly lost his life, but you crystal singers are a resilient bunch – however, long story short, I can get you to Opal in three days rather than a week – and thought, well, a bit of semi-serious rechristening was in order, hence I'm now the _BX Are We There Yet?_ Killa said things were a bit pressing, but for the life of me I can't think why, the Junk isn't going anywhere, after all – at least not when I last checked. They're getting almost garrulous, these days, who's to say if they've started moving too? Where was I? Oh yes, the drones. Obviously, if you're going to be primarily a one-man band for a while, one needs them about the place to do those little odd jobs the brawn normally attends to, and people seem to prefer to have something to talk to rather than just a disembodied voice. Throw in a basic green crystal comsystem – at cost, must remember to thank Killa and Lars for that – add in an upgraded sensor package, and one has oneself a semi-autonomous drone network with an off-ship range of up to three hundred miles on the surface and thee thousand plus from orbit: further if I daisy-chain them to relay telemetry back and forth. It's so nice to be able to get out and about. Any questions so far?"

"Yeah, can I have a stiff double with a relative-normality chaser?" Shara asked.

Zyan put his hand over his face. "Shara. Remember those conversations we had about using your inside voice for stuff like that?"

Far from displaying any sort of contrition, Shara turned a 'what the shard have you got me into?' glare on him.

Brendan just laughed. "Sorry – I will go on sometimes. Shall we head to the mess? I'll pour you a couple of drinks, and then I can give you your briefing in a more sensible format."

\- o O o -

Drinks were served by another, smaller drone – complete with a towel folded over one arm. Shara had her stiff double – Chalician rum, Brendan kept an extensively well-stocked bar. Then she had another one. Zyan had a Yarran and nursed it. Brendan offered food, but this close to the end of Passover neither of them really needed to eat.

"We're going to a planet called Opal," Brendan told them. "Killa and Lars were planning on undertaking this mission themselves, and I agreed to play ferry for them for, well, sentimental reasons, I suppose. It was I that first took them there, several decades back now, to investigate the loss of a survey vessel. The survey vessel had happened across a very interesting new form of life," the brain explained, via one of his standard drones which was 'sat' across from them at the mess table.

"And the natives took the exploration crew out, scuttled the ship and made like nothing had happened," Shara nodded with a certain approbation. "Smart."

The drone turned to her, with it's glowing eyebrows raised in surprise. Zyan sighed. "Shara here came up in life on pre-Republican Chalice, as part of the underground," he explained. "Assuming the worst case in any given scenario is second nature to her."

"A valuable and sadly underrated skill," Brendan said diplomatically.

This time, Shara had the grace to look apologetic. "Sorry Brendan," she said. "Zyan here has got a slightly thicker covering on his revolutionary past than I have. Please, continue – no more interruptions from me, I promise."

"My dear Shara, you are perfectly welcome to interrupt as and when you wish," Brendan said. "I find conversations that proceed only along the expected path to be unutterably dull, and if one wants someone's attention, I've always maintained that one has to work for it."

"I knew I was going to like you the minute you scared the shards out of that guy by the airlock," Shara smiled.

"You did not! I'll bet you fifty creds you were figuring out how to disable those drones if you had to," Zyan accused her.

"Shush now Grandad, it's time for your medication," Shara said, and pushed Zyan's drink closer to him. Brendan guffawed.

Shara smiled, then her face went intent. "For the record, you slide a knife in between the two halves of the outer carapace. It's tricky, though. You've got a difficult choice as to the angle you slide that knife in – too shallow and you won't disable the drone, and it shoots you and whoever you're with that was stupid enough to let you try to disable it."

Shara pointed an imaginary gun at Zyan and Brendan-drone's foreheads as she spoke. "But you _don't_ want to stick it in too straight, either, 'cos you'll hit the power supply and fry like an algae fritter in a hot pan at suppertime. _Bzzt!" _She said, suddenly: Zyan jumped and even Brendan tilted his drone back apprehensively.

"Get it right, though, and the drone drops like a dead weight," she finished, demonstrating with an imaginary knife as she spoke. "Of course, you want to be somewhere else by the time the next drone in the net comes looking to see what happened, unless you want to roll the dice with the knife trick again or get your head splattered all over the nearest wall. Those things never – _ever _– miss."

Shara stared at the tabletop. Zyan blinked. Brendan's drone said nothing.

"They didn't have combat drones on Djiel?" Shara asked, looking up.

Zyan shook his head. "Nope – a fact I'm profoundly grateful for as of right now."

Brendan's drone went from green to white and became impassive – the servitor drone disappeared into a cabinet. His voice issued from a speaker in the centre of the table, instead. "Shara, I am so terribly sorry, it didn't occur to me to ask: would you prefer that I put my drones into storage for the duration of this assignment? I am aware some rogue organisations and individuals have used drones for nefarious purposes in the past, and I don't wish to bring back any traumatic memories of Chalice."

It was Shara's turn to look surprised. "Oh, shards no. Those little green faces are so cute! I'd never stab _your_ drones!"

"'Unutterably dull' is going to seem like a sharding golden age after three days at FTL, Brendan," Zyan said mischievously. Shara kicked him under the table.

"Ow!"

"Don't be such a baby – I thought you didn't feel pain."

"It's the lack of regard for my feelings that stings," Zyan told her.

Brendan's drone came back to life. He made an electronic throat-clearing noise and pressed bravely on. "To continue: in this case, however, insufficient provision for the hazardous environment was at fault for the loss of life, and nothing worse. The natives turned out to be friendly, once we'd established a means of communication. Killa and Lars deduced that the Jewel Junk – the scientists called them FM units, but as far as I'm concerned they're Junks, and they don't seem to object either - communicated through high-frequency shockwaves. The specialist team that followed in their wake was able to build on that to a certain degree, but it turned out to be a different medium that really opened things up. I'm prevented by FSP confidentiality from telling you too much about this – Opal is still treated as need to know only, to prevent hordes of rubberneckers descending on the place demanding to see the newly discovered aliens – but Lars and Killa scared up some crystal offcuts and retunes and gave them to some of the Jewel Junks. The ones equipped with crystal grew much faster than the others, and following a certain event that proved to be something of a Rosetta stone for the Junks, they started talking to us in our _own_ language."

"Wow – what happened?" Shara asked.

"That's one of the things I'm not permitted to tell anyone, I'm afraid. However, two or three days later the scientific team was amazed and surprised when a new voice came over their comunits bidding them a belated welcome to Opal. They'd become a sort of, well, there's a massive debate over exactly _what_ they are, but certainly some manner of heavily networked intelligence. It settled the sentience argument once and for all, though. They've been learning about us as much as we've been learning about them ever since. One of the things they've asked for recently is more crystal, and Lars and Killa were only too happy to oblige. Your job is to distribute the crystals you've brought with you, and probably re-distribute some of the existing crystals, too," Brendan told them.

"Will the science team have a plan for that?" Zyan asked.

"The _Junks_ will have a plan for that," Brendan answered. "They're the masters of their own destiny, now. There's still a science team, but it's more of an embassy type arrangement these days. The Junks are happy to be observed and to answer as many questions as the scientists can pose, but they've made it politely but firmly clear that they no longer wish to be poked, prodded or probed. Killa made it equally clear that the Guild is providing crystals and assistance as a favour to the Junks, not the scientists. She wasn't overly impressed with their boss, the last time she was there. He's long since gone, but he may have been replaced with another stuffed shirt in the meantime."

Zyan was running numbers internally. _Fastest ship in the FSP, eh?_ "When did the Guildmaster and the Crystal Singer ask you to get involved, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, nine or ten weeks back? Just before those big storms of yours. I was in the area on other business, and they asked me then if I'd be willing to hang around until they were able to wrangle a few days free to come and visit the Junks. As lovely as it is to make your acquaintances, I'm suprised they've handed the assignment to someone else," Brendan confessed.

_Well, the timing works out, _Zyan thought – the look Shara gave him when his question was answered showed she was thinking the same thing. The Guildmaster and the Crystal Singer had the perfect excuse to have a fast B&B ship on-hand – in case they decided they needed to go after Alenda? Was Brendan more up-to-speed on that than he was letting on, or was he an unwitting cat's paw? If he was a friend of theirs, it seemed unlikely they'd be so deceptive: but then again it was often in a friend's best interests not to burden them with detail that might get them into hot water with the FSP. Lots of questions, few if any answers.

"Thanks Brendan," Zyan said. "We'll do our best not to disgrace the Crystal Singer and the Guildmaster."

"I read about what you managed on Chalice," Brendan replied, "as well as getting an unofficial addendum from Killa, so I'm sure you'll do fine. One other thing she told me was to make all possible speed – I didn't think this was a particularly urgent assignment, but nevertheless I'm always happy to show off. We're currently cruising at standard FTL speeds – fast but nowhere near as fast as I can manage. I can perform Singularity jumps that other, lesser ships can only dream about: but anything biological and living has to be in a shielded radiant tank."

"If it wants to continue to be both biological _and_ living, I'm guessing," Shara said.

"You have, with commendable acuity, seen to the very crux of the issue, Shara dear," Brendan replied with a smile from his drone.

"_You_ are what my more cultured friends refer to as a shameless flatterer, Mr. Drones," Shara told him.

"I do apologise – Boira was always telling me off for the same thing," Brendan replied.

"Nah, keep it coming, all I get from this one is criticisms and complaints," Shara indicated Zyan with a incline of her head. "Keep this coming too, please," she added, holding up her empty glass. She must actually like the taste, Zyan thought – this close after passover, Zyan didn't even really want to finish his beer.

Brendan laughed – the serving drone re-emerged to fulfil the request. "Well, if you don't object to sleeping in a radiant tank for a few hours at a time, I'll do a few jumps and get you to Opal all the quicker," Brendan said, returning to business.

"Not a problem, I _love_ radiant baths," Shara replied.

"Similarly not a problem, although personally the best thing I can say about them is that they're marginally better than the alternative of crystal resonance," Zyan added, with a wrinkled nose. He had never got over his initial disgust of the gloopy semi-liquid.

"When can we get underway?" Shara asked.

"Whenever you're ready," Brendan replied.

"Well, it's been a tough day, one way or another," Zyan answered. "Let's get cracking."


	3. Chapter 3

The next three days saw them in and out of Brendan's radiant tanks four times: mostly in. Brendan's FTL party piece was jumping in what he called burst mode: he performed a series of jumps one after the other, with only a few minutes in between, so there was little point in getting out. He provided hard-core sedatives, which worked even on singer physiology – awake, the multiple decompositions and recompositions would be unbearable. They seemed to spend almost as much time sleeping as during Passover.

During the few periods of activity between bursts, Brendan was the soul of affability and charm – and not above flirting with Shara, who, it seemed, was willing to play. They had to both know it could lead nowhere, but they seemed to enjoy it. This surpised Zyan, who was more accustomed to thinking of Shara as a sort of kid sister (albeit a slightly scary one). They'd both come from the same sort of pressurised chaos, and both made the same big decision afterwards to join the Guild. Although he hadn't overtly recruited her, there could be little doubt that her choice of post-revolutionary career had been influenced by the time she'd spent as his liaison on Chalice. For this reason he felt a duty to look out for her – and at only twenty one standard years old Shara was very young for a crystal singer. However, she _was_ a grown up and more than capable of taking care of herself – Zyan certainly hadn't hesitated when choosing her as a partner in his current grey-legal enterprise – so he said nothing.

The final jump put them very nearly on Opal's doorstep – they'd be in orbit in less than an hour.

Zyan, feeling a little odd and loose-limbed, washed and dressed in his work gear – they'd be dealing with crystal, after all – and headed down to Brendan's 'bridge'. The controls were all strictly redundant, but the viewscreen provided a real-time view of an unremarkable planet in orbit around an unusually active primary. The planet was, in turn, orbited by an FSP frigate. A small warship, to be sure, but still an armed military presence.

"That normal?" Zyan asked.

"Yes – Opal isn't yet an FSP member, but more and more people are finding out about it and it's inhabitants, so the Navy keeps a ship in orbit to discourage any uninvited guests," Brendan explained.

"Is that anything to do with us?" Shara asked, as she entered the bridge, also clothed for the ranges. She winced and worked her shoulder. Zyan shook his head in answer to the frigate query.

"You alright?" He asked her.

"Aching all over," she replied. "And without even having done anything violently fun to earn it."

"Apologies," Brendan said, via one of his drones which hovered off to one side of the chamber. "Singularity bursts put extra stress on human tissue – I have a headache myself, which is of course the only kind of ache I _can_ get. I'm surprised Zyan hasn't suffered a little too."

Zyan opened his mouth to answer, but Shara got there first. "Captain Fortunate here doesn't feel pain," she said sourly.

"The sensation will wear off in an hour or two," Brendan supplied. "But I have a very advanced med bay capable of complex surgical operations on every known alien species, and even some not so well known."

"It's a headache, Brendan, not a pulser wound," Zyan told the drone.

"Of course. What I meant to imply was that I have analgesics, painkillers and sedatives which will work even with Ballybran-enhanced physiology," Brendan added.

"I'm not entirely sure it wasn't _caused_ by your sedatives, Brendan. It's already going, though, you can stand down," Shara told him, coming to stand beside Zyan.

"Crystal singer regenerative capabilities, no doubt," Brendan's drone bobbed up and down, as if nodding.

The frigate issued and answered an IFF challenge, but otherwise didn't make contact. The inhabitants themselves did that a few moments later.

Brendan put it on the viewscreen – there was no image as such, but an endlessly shifting technicolour pattern of stripes and swirls. "Don't look too closely," Brendan advised. "Junk images can be hypnotic. They don't mean to do it, but, well, it's what they look like and they transmit that way too."

Zyan didn't need telling twice – the memory of his most recent brush with thrall was still very sharp.

"Travels Swiftly," came an oddly familiar voice over the speakers. "It is like the cessation of sunspot activity to us that you have returned once more. Your physical presence in our immediate environment is always a welcome one. Pleasure and surprise at this."

"Thank you. It is pleasant to be here once again," Brendan replied, in oddly formal tones. "Your interlingual has improved beyond measure," he added.

"Pleasure and gratitude at this. The Knowledge Seekers have been kind and helpful but our fluency has been hard won. So: smugness at this."

Brendan laughed. The pattern on the screen changed to one of jiggling, curved stripes in multiple colours – visual laughter, Zyan realised - but then returned to a sober black-and-white pattern.

"Embarrassment at the asking of this so soon after greeting being made, but great is our desire for this knowledge: have you brought the Life Stones we requested of Soul of Song?"

Zyan twigged to the voice, then: it sounded a lot like the Crystal Singer. Shara had evidently noticed too, but they both remained silent. No prizes for guessing what 'life stones' were.

"I have," Brendan replied. "Soul of Song and Wind Catcher send their best wishes with the Life Stones and their regrets that they could not come themselves, but a stern duty lies upon them at the present that they may not ignore. They send instead two of their trusted friends to help you with the Life Stones," Brendan answered.

"Sadness but understanding at this," the voice replied. "Knowledge we have that Soul of Song and Wind Catcher are now the custodians of their world, and may not come and go as their desires dictate. We will be patient for their presence here and will feel the joy of their return all the more that it is not easily accomplished. These others – are they Singers of the Life Stones too?"

"They are," Brendan answered. "Among us, they are known as CS Jarvis and CS Ferozacorazon. They are here with me right now."

"We welcome you that are known as See Ess Jar Viss and See Ess Feh Rosa Cora Zon," the voice said. "We hope you will forgive our lack of understanding of your names, which are strange to us. We have a different understanding of language and individuality which does not translate well to what you call _speech_. Embarrassment at this."

To Zyan's surprise, it was Shara that spoke up. "Embarrassment at this is not necessary. We are pleased to be here and feel wonder at speaking with you."

"Yes, um, a pleasure to be here. Look forward to meeting you in person," Zyan said.

"Acceptance at this kind attitude. Looking-to-future-pleasure at this also," the voice responded. "Gratitude at your gifts and your assistance. Knowledge we have that tells us the Life Stones are not easily taken from your world, and that Singers of the Life Stones must return there or face the end of being, so we know this is no small thing you do for us. We now go on to say that which the Knowledge Seekers and the Watchers Above tell us is necessary among your kind before you may come closer. The Gift of Descent we extend to Travels Swiftly to our First of Pads," the voice said.

"Gratitude at this," Brendan responded. "We're on our way down."

"Pleasure at this. Communication closing," the voice stated.

The screen flicked back to a view of the planet, which moved and rotated oddly as Brendan started his re-entry manoeuvres.

"Channel closed, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask," Brendan stated. "That was their way of giving landing clearance for pad 1, by the way" he added.

"Wow," Zyan said. "I think I can join the dots on most of that, but what's with the odd names?"

"Like they say, they have a different understanding of individuality and communication. Last time I was here they were still at the stage of clicking out super-high-speed morse code in order to communicate – this is tremendous progress for them. As for the names, as far as they're concerned, 'Brendan' is just a random series of letters. After Killa got-" Brendan stopped. "Once Killa installed the crystals, and given a bit of time, they started coming up with their own names for people. I'm quite fond of Travels Swiftly – it's rather poetic."

Zyan took note of the sudden change of conversational direction, but wasn't sure what Brendan had avoided saying.

"How come you didn't adopt it as your designation when you decided to change it?" Shara asked him.

"I felt it was...special to here," Brendan replied. "Anything else you didn't understand?"

"Soul of Song must be the Crystal Singer, so Wind Catcher is, I'm assuming, the Guildmaster, but I'm not sure why?"

"Does it matter?" Shara asked.

"Well, I suppose not, I'm just curious," Zyan said.

"He loves sailing above almost anything else, didn't you know?" Brendan supplied the answer.

"He's a good boss and we get on fine, but we're not close or anything," Zyan answered.

"You were pretty close with his niece," Shara put in impishly.

Zyan gave her an exasperated expression."Seriously?"

"Hello, I sense gossip," Brendan perked up. "What niece would this be? I'd gathered that singers don't have families."

"The current Senior Counsel of the Heptite Guild, a fellow Guildmember with whom I had a relationship that ended amicably," Zyan explained, "is related to the Guildmaster in a convoluted sort of way that could be conveniently labelled as 'niece'. While this isn't exactly private information, I'm not sure why certain people consider it relevant right now, all things considered." He shot a poisonous glance at Shara. Shara just gave him an unreadable look in return. "Who are the Knowledge Seekers?" Zyan asked, to change the subject.

"The Knowledge Seekers are what the Junks call the scientific team, and the Watchers Above are our friends in uniform over there."

"I wonder what they'll call us," Zyan mused.

"Complains Frequently for you, I expect," Shara smirked.

"That'd make you-" Zyan started.

"Smart and Beautiful, yes, I know, couldn't be anything else really," Shara interrupted, and Brendan laughed. Zyan glared. She looked back at him and tapped her ear meaningfully before turning to leave. "I'm going to go and finish dressing while we land."

"Yeah, I need to go zip my bag up," Zyan said, then paused. "Do we need suits?"

Brendan's drone rotated from side to side in a negative gesture. "The scientists have established a network of pressurised tunnels leading to each Junk. They still wear environment suits, but you two won't need them: just take an emergency rebreather each - better safe than sorry."

"Understood," Zyan said, before returning to his cabin.

When he placed the black crystal comunit in his ear, he received a small surprise. The earbud adjusted itself to his ear, bracing itself just out of sight, then surprised him by talking in a soft machine voice.

"BlackTalk v1.0 active. First time use detected – tap twice or vocalise 'quickstart' for a short user guide."

Zyan tapped his ear twice.

"BlackTalk v1.0 is a closed-circuit, short range tactical black crystal comunit, patent Heptite Guild, Ballybran. Authorised Heptite Guild or FSP Intelligence use only. Subvocalisation is the best way to talk, recharge by placing near any standard wireless charging outlet, full recharge takes thirty seven minutes. Unit is waterproof and shockproof, any unit in network can be used to find other units if lost, vocalise 'hide and seek mode' to activate. By default unit operates asynchronously to save power – messages are exchanged in compressed burst mode every ten minutes. Standard operations: tap twice for status. Tap three times to toggle between async and real-time mode. Warning: real-time mode drains power at an accelerated rate. Tap four times to disengage ear clamps to remove. For emergency shutdown vocalise this precise phrase: emergency shutdown now now now, or tap non-stop."

Zyan tapped twice. "Unit 3 of 3 in async mode. Range two hundred thousand and seventy three kilometres, fifty six hours nine minutes power remaining. Messages in queue, tap twice to play."

Again with the ear tapping. The unit played a whisper from Shara: "Go real time."

Zyan tapped his ear three times.

"Real-time mode active. One hour three minutes power remaining," the earbud told him.

"Ouch," Zyan said, almost silently.

"Talking about the difference in run time when we go to real-time mode?" Shara asked, via the comunit. It was like she was whispering in his ear: remarkable.

"Uh-huh," Zyan replied. "What was all that about me and Alenda in aid of?"

"Groundwork," Shara replied. "We may need to ask Brendan for help – the Crystal Singer may already have told him _something_ beyond the exact boundaries of this assignment – but if not, then I don't think it'll hurt us for him to know you have a personal stake in this."

"Why's that?"

"He sees himself as an old-fashioned gentleman, flirting with the pretty girl but chivalrous nonetheless. The thought of helping you go to the rescue of your lost love will motivate him," Shara explained.

"So that's what all the batting eyelashes was about, was it?"

"That and it's kinda fun," Shara replied.

"Didn't think you were the type," Zyan said.

"I'm branching out, sue me," Shara replied.

"That'd hardly be fair on Hollin, he'd have to argue against himself in court. Going async again."

"Going async," Shara confirmed.

Brendan was as good a pilot as Marcus - they set down on the surface with nary a bump. The singers proceeded to Brendan's main airlock: views from the outside on his numerous repeater screens showed a docking tube snaking out to cover it. The crystal crates followed behind them like obedient puppies.

"The gravity here is quite low, only .7 standard," he reminded them once they reached the airlock, as one of his drones issued them with small, emergency rebreathers: discreet devices hardly bigger than a pack of cards, they folded out into full face masks and were good for a few hours of breathable air on a single charge. Zyan clipped his on his belt. "I'll dial the internal grav plates down to match. Do you mind if I tag along? I've never been able to go exploring Opal with my drones, and it'll be nice to actually see the Junks up close and personal."

"The more the merrier, as far as I'm concerned," Zyan said.

"You can be my plus one," Shara nudged the drone with her elbow.

"Honoured and delighted," Brendan replied.

In the airlock, Zyan felt the odd sensation of reducing gravity. Shara, who was less used to conditions of variable gravity, frowned and looked slightly uncomfortable, but soon put it aside as the environment settled to match the planet. Brendan's drone was unaffected.

"And you're on stage in 3, 2, 1-" Brendan said, as the airlock hissed open.

The singers were faced with a trio of characters. There was a hulking heavyworlder man in the uniform of a lieutenant in the FSP Marines, a tall guy in civilian clothes, and a very young, very diminutive woman wearing the white coat of a scientist.

"Welcome to Opal, crystal singers," the tall guy greeted them with a smile. He was in late middle age, and radiated a calm air. "I am Sothi, the FSP Special Envoy to Opal. This is Dr. Klerney Saplinson-Trill, our lead scientist."

"Hi, just call me Klerney," the woman – girl, really – leant forward to shake hands vigorously with both the singers. Nobody was in environment suits yet – Zyan supposed this was a controlled area. She seemed to be on the young side for the lead scientist of an important project, and had a pleasant, round face and a slightly manic manner. She was also at the very low end of the height spectrum: Shara wasn't a tall woman, but even she towered over Klerney. All of this combined to give the impression of a supercharged pixie. "Totally excited you're both here – can't wait to get started. The guys have got really ambitious plans for that crystal and it's going to be absolutely awesome!"

Zyan frowned a little, remembering what Brendan had told him earlier. "I thought the Junks, pardon, FM units would decide what crystal went where?"

Sothi intervened with another calm smile. "When Klerney talks about 'the guys', she _is_ referring to the Jewel Junks, CS Jarvis. She works somewhat more closely with them than her predecessors," he explained.

"Who were also my parents. I don't think dad ever really _got_ the Jewel Junks, to be honest. Mom was more willing to learn from them but he was the one with all the pull at the FSP Academy of Sciences so-" Klerney launched into an explanation.

"Perhaps later, Klerney," Sothi cut in gently.

Klerney stopped her explanation, with good grace. "Of course, totally. Nobody wants a lecture on family history." She gave a self-deprecating smile.

"And this is Lieutenant Mueller, our naval liaison," Sothi introduced the Marine.

"Commander Jarvis," the marine saluted Zyan.

"Wait, what?" Zyan blinked. "I kinda quit outta the military biz three years back, Lieutenant, and I never got a promotion either."

"Ah – you have not heard," Mueller said. "Following the re-integration of Djiel into the FSP, all armed forces of both sides were absorbed into the FSP military. You never resigned your commission, sir, and received an automatic promotion last year to reflect your seniority. You are currently a Commander in the FSP Naval Reserve, and I am required to greet you as such."

"No shards, seriously?" Zyan laughed.

"Indeed sir," the marine confirmed.

Zyan laughed again and returned the salute, with a little less precision than Mueller. "At ease, Lieutenant. Pleased to meet you."

Shara laughed. "Hah! _Commander_ Jarvis. Makes you sound almost respectable. _Almost_."

The marine then turned to Shara. "Captain Ferozacorazon," he saluted again.

"Wait, what?" It was Shara's turn to blink in surprise.

"Oh this is _perfect_," Zyan laughed.

"Following the re-ratification of Chalice as an FSP member world, the Chalician People's Front has also chosen to become part of the FSP military, ma'am," Mueller explained. "You hold a reserve captain's commission in the FSP Territorial Army."

Zyan was still laughing. "Hah! Makes you sound _almost respectable," _he chortled. "Salute the Lieutenant, Captain, you're being rude."

Shara gave him a withering look, but nevertheless returned the lieutenant's salute. Brendan's drone couldn't hold back a laugh, either.

Zyan was still bubbling with mirth, but decided he'd better make a stab at being a professional and civilised guildmember. "Okay, now we're all up to speed on our backup careers, I think we can assume that 'Zyan' and 'Shara' will do, and also I'd like to introduce Brendan, brain of the _BX Are We There Yet?_ He'll be coming with us via one of his ship's drones."

"Oh, Sothi and I are previously acquainted, Zyan," Brendan said, bobbing his drone to acknowledge the introduction. "Congratulations on the promotion, Sothi. The FSP made a very wise choice for their ambassador."

"Thank you, Brendan. It is good to see you again," Sothi shook the drone's metallic hand.

"Do I dare hope that Asramantal is still here too, Sothi?" Brendan asked.

Sothi shook his head. "Asra got his doctorate in Xenogeology, and now heads up his own project in the Vassily system. I'm the last one of the old team still here – unless you count Klerney, she was actually born here while her parents were still in charge."

"Glad to hear he's getting ahead in life, though," Brendan said, then turned to Klerney. "You were born here?"

Klerney nodded. "The only one. My parents took me away when I was little and their project here was wound up, but I came back as soon as I could manage it," the scientist confirmed. "The Junks recognised me when I returned, it was like coming home to family. And to think dad never believed they were sentient – or never wanted to, more like!"

"There seems little doubt about that now," Shara put in. "I'm not completely _au fait_ on what officially constitutes sentience, but when something says hello and gives you landing clearance, I'm pretty sure you can skip the rest of the paperwork."

"100% hard agree," Klerney grinned. "Come on, I'll introduce you. Follow me!"

Sothi coughed delicately. "Klerney, our guests will have had a long voyage," he hinted.

"No, it's fine," Zyan said. "We actually just woke up, more or less, so unless you've got procedures to follow I'm okay with cracking on. Shara?"

"Let's do this," Shara answered, and turned to Klerney. "Lead the way!"

"Yay!" Klerney grinned again, and took Shara's arm in hears to lead her back down the docking tube.

"Yay!" Shara repeated, only slightly sarcastically, with a look at Zyan, before being pulled after.

Sothi shook his head with a rueful smile. "Our lead scientist is more than a little on the enthusiastic side, I'm afraid."

"Kids, eh?" Zyan agreed jokingly. "At least she's got someone to play with now."

Sothi managed to retake control of the expedition from the bubbly Klerney before they left the environmentally controlled section of the outpost, pointing out team quarters, life support, their black-crystal equipped communications hub (Zyan felt a tingle off it) and various labs. Many of these were now empty, as the thrust of the scientific investigation had changed from equipment-intensive planetary mechanics to Klerney's nominal speciality of xenolinguistics, for which she needed little more than a pen, paper and time to think. She was a polymath and a prodigy: despite being only seventeen she already held a doctorate and three other degrees. Although one of the other scientists on planet was technically the chief, he'd been given strict instructions to support her but otherwise leave her to work her miracles: which she did, with breakthrough after breakthrough. It was also quite plain that the envoy looked upon her with something akin to fatherly affection.

"Everyone on the team thought of her as family when she was a child," Sothi admitted. "The Junks call her 'Little Sister'. I doubt she'll ever leave, to be honest – she feels she belongs here, and the Junks seem to agree."

There was some confusion at the decontamination airlock between the habitat section and the rest of the network – the staff there expected the singers to don suits like everyone else. Brendan stepped – or rather hovered – in to assure them they weren't necessary: it had long ago been established that the spore conferred immunity to the deadly ailment that had devastated the original explorers from the _Toronto_. The forty-odd Jewel Junks were now accessible via walkways with atmosphere, so suits were only necessary to keep out any viruses or bacteria. Sothi smoothed things over; the lieutenant, who would not be coming, bade them a formal farewell with another salute – and through they went.

"Since the Junks have had access to crystal and a variety of organic and inorganic substances, their growth has been extremely rapid. They've doubled their numbers – they reproduce via asexual fission – and all of the Junks equipped with a crystal are now able to use them to communicate with us and interface with standard communication and computer systems," Sothi explained, as they walked through the well-lit and clean tunnel to cave 15, which housed the biggest of the Junks.

"I set them up with their own servers," Klerney said. "They haven't _quite_ absorbed the sum total of human and alien knowledge yet, but they're working on it."

A nasty thought occurred to Zyan – if the Junks were connected up to news services then they may have heard of Black Zyan, and may not necessarily have an understanding attitude towards someone who was notorious for destroying a very sizeable Life Stone.

"Shards, I hope they don't call me 'Death Bringer' or something," he muttered to himself.

"Did you say something, Zyan?" Sothi asked him.

"Nope, nothing at all why would you ask, um, how far to the cave?" He responded in a fluster.

"Just around the next corner, Zyan," Sothi answered.

A few seconds later his earbud sent out it's scheduled compressed transmission, and Shara laughed: it had taken his inadvertant muttering as a subvocalisation, and she heard it.

When they did round the final corner, Zyan could not have imagined a more staggering welcome.

On an off planet trip, back when their relationship was still going strong, Alenda had pried a few hours loose from a schedule of negotiations to spend with Zyan. The world was Regulus – the capital of the FSP – and they visited the cathedral together. It was a monument to the breadth and longevity of the FSP rather than any deity, containing a museum of cultural and scientific artifacts rather than crosses or choirs. It was a thousand years old but never finished – every time a world joined the FSP or a colony came of age, they sent a shipment of stone and a pane of glass. The stone went into the walls or statuary, and the glass went into the tremendous stained glass window that dominated the nave: a huge circle of multicoloured light. During the day the system primary sent a rainbow cascade of sunlight in through the window – at night it received some help from strategically placed lights outside. Day or night, it was astonishing.

"Can you feel it?" Alenda asked him, as they stood before the window.

"It's certainly impressive," Zyan replied, thinking she was referring to the feeling of awe the spectacle invoked. "So many colours, I wish you could see them."

"I can see the extent of the window, and feel the light on my skin – I also came here while I was at university, and I can recall the sight. I was talking about Ballybran's contribution, though," Alenda clarified.

Zyan got what she meant and homed in on a slight tingling. "Of _course_ we sent crystal instead of glass," he said.

Ballybran's contribution to the window was the Guild dodecahedron in flattened, 2D form, rendered in thin slices of crystal of various shades. It had been wrought with care – no one shade overwhelmed the others or set up unpleasant counter-harmonies – and had been placed _almost_ in the centre of the window: a prominent position, but just off to one side, hanging back from the big designs of Regulus itself and the other founder worlds. It sparkled far brighter than the glass surrounding it, but didn't try to overwhelm, content in the knowledge that it had power aplenty and didn't need to be overly showy. _Appropriate_, Zyan thought.

_Quite_, Alenda agreed. _The power nobody knows you have is often the strongest power of all._

Cave fifteen was a little like the window and the nave from that cathedral, except that there was more window than nave: more Junk than cave. The Jewel Junk – sometimes nicknamed Big Hungry Junk, he was told, although that was unofficial - _was_ the cave: it arced over their heads, covered all the walls and floor and ceiling apart from a walkway which it had chosen to leave, about three metres wide, leading to where an extrusion hung down from the ceiling, almost like an inverted altar. A shaft of black crystal was held there, about a third of it's length visible.

For once, though, the black crystal was unable to get Zyan's attention: from a uniform blue glow, the Junk came alive with multi-coloured light, pulsating and strobing in an ever-changing pattern that held the eye and dazzled the senses. Zyan found himself trying to follow individual sub-patterns as they emerged and merged with others and then re-emerged elsewhere.

It was Brendan that stopped him going into something akin to thrall, with an unobtrusive nudge.

"Don't watch too closely," the drone reminded him. "It's hypnotic."

Zyan blinked, half glad to be pulled out, but also there was a sense of something almost like loss: he felt he'd been on the verge of understanding the patterns, breaking through a barrier of some kind. It had also, though, cut both ways. He had been seen and sensed, as well as seeing and sensing. He knew what that felt like, possibly better than anyone else in the galaxy: but then he looked at Klerney, who was watching the patterns with undisguised awe and fascination despite the familiarity she must have with them.

She shook it off easily, though. "Well, _someone_ just made a good impression!" Klerney announced gleefully. "Hiya guys, I brought some friends to meet you! They've brought more life stones!"

Zyan noted that the cave – what there was of it not covered with Jewel Junk - was wired for sound with mikes and speakers. The patterns slowed a little, and the same Crystal Singer-esque voice as before issued from them.

"Welcome friends and emissaries of Soul of Song and Wind Catcher. Gratitude at your coming here with Life Stones. Please, step forth, one by one," the voice said.

"Ladies first," Zyan said – he'd meant it to be flippant but found he couldn't quite manage flippant right that moment.

Shara made no objection, anyway, and stepped forward. "Greetings from the Heptite Guild of Ballybran," she said. "We are honoured to meet you and look forward to working with you."

"We greet you, Fierce Heart," the Junk replied. "You are kind to say this to us, for we know the giving of Life Stones is no small undertaking for your kind. We will try and shield you from what Soul of Song called the link shock."

"Thank you," Shara inclined her head in a bow, and – a rarity for the woman who had greeted her first look at the ranges with a shrug and 'huh, it's okay if you like that sort of thing' - looked slightly overwhelmed as she stepped back to the rest of the group.

She got over it in mere seconds, though: "Hah! Fierce Heart. _Fierce. Heart. _I bet _your_ portentious name assigned by enigmatic alien beings is nowhere as cool as mine," she told him, with a hidden smirk-grin.

"Fifty creds says you're wrong, Fierce Heart," Zyan countered.

"Brendan gets to judge?" Shara asked.

"Deal," Zyan agreed, and stepped forward.

"We greet you, Complains Frequently, and bid you welcome to Opal," the voice said.

"Sorry, what again?" Zyan asked, with a hard look.

The Junk went silent.

Shara dissolved in a fit of laughter, and the Junk strobed in a multicoloured, jaggedly vibrating herringbone pattern. Brendan joined in, too.

"Forgiveness we ask for this. That is not how you will be known, but was found just too tempting to pass up," the Junk confessed.

Zyan twigged to the joke a few moments after everyone else. "Shard it, you had me there," he admitted. "You tell them that, Brendan?" He asked the drone.

"Not me!" Brendan replied. Zyan looked at Shara: she shrugged and shook her head.

"If you thought that was bad, you should've been here for the 'planet will explode in seventeen minutes' stunt they pulled on us last month," Sothi told him. "They do love their little jokes."

"Again, forgiveness we ask from you, Loves Without Judgement," the Junk said.

All the laughter stopped. Zyan blinked. Deep down, he knew, the name fit perfectly – although he didn't know why.

"None needed," Zyan answered as he stepped back. "You completely got me."

There was a moment of silence, which was broken, naturally, by Shara: she was a serial disrespecter of 'moments'.

"Fifty credits in the bag," she commented, with an impish grin.

Zyan's brain had finally caught up, though, and was asking the right question: _how did they know about that?_

\- o O o -

He didn't get a chance to think any more on that right away: with Klerney, Sothi and a small team of volunteers in tow, they set about their task of installing and redistributing the Junk's supply of crystal according to their plan. The aliens were pretty sure what they wanted, although following an initial discussion with Zyan and Shara, they did fine-tune their plan a little and change some of their allocations. Different Junks, it seemed, specialised in different things – some were information processors, and could best make use of pink or yellow. Others acted as routers or hubs – green comcrystals were best for them. Others seemed to have a more mysterious purpose, and were assigned blues, whites – even some smaller bits of networked black: the Crystal Singer had been generous.

Crystal installations were never going to be Zyan's favourite way to spend his time, although the Junks were as good as their word, and were making sure that any crystal going in or out was inert until Zyan or Shara had finished their work and stepped back down to the floor (a stepladder was part of the toolkit that Klerney and Sothi had assembled in advance). All of the extant Junks were to have a crystal: the hardest installations were the three good-sized blacks, which were installed in the three largest Junks.

The heftiest of these, from the first cave, surrendered it's own non-networked piece of black crystal, which was to be re-allocated to a Junk which dwelt some distance from the others. That would be the penultimate installation: it would be something of an anti-climax that the final installation would be to take the sliver of blue currently held by the distant Junk and gift it to a smaller Junk closer to the others.

This entailed a walk, anyway, and quite a long one. For some reason, the penultimate Junk was a good twenty minutes slog away from the others. The passageway evidently wasn't often used – there was more cinder on the ground than the others, and the lights were sparser and motion activated to save power.

Shara was talking to Klerney, and Brendan's drone was talking to Sothi. This left Zyan to trudge along in silence, and his head was whirling with questions.

He'd run a mental analysis of how, exactly, the Junks could have got hold of Shara's 'Complains Frequently' jibe, and had come up with a few possibilities.

1) someone had told them. Brendan had denied it, and he didn't seem the type to lie. Zyan had used the black crystal earbud to ping a query at Shara, asking her to confirm – seriously – if she had let it slip. She'd confirmed she definitely hadn't.

So Zyan moved onto 2) Brendan had left the channel open after the Junks had given him landing clearance. This didn't seem likely, either – Brendan had confirmed it was closed, so they knew they could talk about the strange conversation and he could answer any questions.

That left 3) the Junks had some seriously advanced surveillance capabilities and had been monitoring them aboard the _Are We There Yet?_ This also didn't seem likely – B&B ships were serious bits of kit and were designed to be as resilient as the FSP could make them, which included proofing against electronic snooping. Still, this couldn't be _completely_ ruled out: even before Zyan and Shara had done the rounds with their crates, there was a lot of crystal on Opal in the hands of beings with unknown capabilities – but again, it wasn't likely. Zyan had briefly considered if the Junks were somehow piggybacking on the black crystal earbuds, but black networks were impenetrable unless you had one of the crystals in your possession, and there was no way the Junks could have one. They'd have to have been given one in advance, and the BlackTalk group set up to intentionally mislead it's users as to the number of crystals in the network. That could only have been arranged by the Crystal Singer, and that was a level of paranoia to which even Zyan wasn't willing to descend. So, all in all, the snooping Junks hypothesis was a non-starter too.

All that therefore remained was something that Zyan would have dismissed as outright impossible, except that his own experiences in the past had taught him that you needed to have an open mind about, well, having an open mind. It was this:

4) the Junks, like Alenda, were telepathic. They'd picked 'Complains Frequently' out of Shara's mind, Zyan's mind or – somehow – Brendan's. They'd decided that this staggering capability was somehow best used for, of all things, a joke.

Did they just not think it was that big of a deal? Surely the scientific team would have noticed it before now? If they had, were they being persuaded not to enter this in any reports back to the FSP? What else had they picked up on?

Zyan had no answers, but as soon as the thought had entered his mind, he'd mentally hunched in on himself, started a running 1-2-3-4 count at the front of his brain and tried to hide behind it, the way he'd used to do to try and keep Alenda out and, before that, Prot commissars fishing for dissidents in mandatory interviews. She'd said he needed practice at it, but he'd decided a while back that he didn't mind her being in there. He wasn't so sure about the Junks.

On top of all that, too, he was still trying to figure out why the Crystal Singer had sent him here. He was absolutely certain, now, that she'd had a hidden agenda. He knew he had to figure it out, and with the installations all but completed he was nearly out of time (as well as out of energy – this many installations in such a short period of time was sapping his energy and nerves). What had she said again?

_I suppose it's best characterised as a diplomatic mission. To be exact, I'm sending you to check in with some old friends of mine – extend the hand of friendship, get in touch and keep in contact. Think you can do that?_

Well, he was here, he'd been diplomatic, and he'd been talking to them. What else could he do?

"Um, Zyan?" It was Klerney. "We're here. Say hello to Sentinel."

Zyan blinked and looked up. They had, indeed, arrived. Cave 13's Junk – auspicious, that – wasn't quite as big as the first Junk he'd encountered, but it was getting there. It took up most of the cave it inhabited, leaving only a small area by the access shaft for people to stand in, and was closer to the floor than 15. It was a darker colour, overall, than the first Junk, and it's patterns were somehow more sober and serious. Zyan reminded himself not to stare. Why, he wondered, did this one get an official name when the others hadn't? Another Junk mystery.

"Hello, er, Sentinel," Zyan answered dutifully, putting aside both his weariness and his mental preoccupation.

"Hey, you okay there?" Shara asked – her own face looked pale and drawn: she'd been shouldering as much of the workload as Zyan had, and it was her first time doing installations to boot.

"Do you wish to delay the installation?" Sothi asked.

"They won't mind at all, in fact they'd rather you didn't stress yourselves too much," Klerney added.

"Confirmation of this," Sentinel's voice issued from the intercom unit set up by the entrance. "There is no shame, and much wisdom, in conserving one's strength against future need."

"One's strength?" Zyan asked it, noting the use of the individual article rather than collective speech.

"One," Sentinel confirmed. "Like you, Loves Without Judgement, I do what must be done. Those that take such a path sometimes walk it alone. Fierce Heart knows this too."

Sentinel's tone was certainly different from the others, too. It was it's own Junk.

"Sentinel takes the lead in controlling sunspot activity that would otherwise threaten the planet," Klerney supplied. "Sort of like our guardian angel. We'd all be dead without such protection."

"Little Sister is kind. Gratitude at this," Sentinel said. "With the black Life Stone, my task will be more bearable. Enough, perhaps, that I will be able to return to closeness with the others."

"Sentinel throws a lot of energy around when she diverts a sunspot or stops a solar flare from erupting in our direction. We don't want that to feedback into the rest of the family, so she stays out here instead," Klerney said, with a certain sadness.

"She?" Shara asked. "The others didn't have, well, genders. I thought it didn't matter to them."

"I am, above all other things, a protector," Sentinel said. "I have decided I identify most as female."

Shara smiled a slightly feral smile. "You made a very wise choice."

Zyan was privately wondering that if you could divert a solar flare _away_ from something, you could also divert it _towards_ something. You could fry a planet over easy, if you had a mind to – or a ship that couldn't dodge out of the way. It was one hell of an offensive capability to have at your disposal.

Shara returned them to the subject at hand. "You want me to take this one? You can install the last one instead."

Zyan shook his head. "No, we'll stick with the plan. I've got a black left in me," he said, pulling on his gloves again. "Sentinel, do you want to expel your old Life Stone first or should we install the new Life Stone first?" He asked – different Junks had expressed different preferences for this.

"New first," she answered. "Even as we speak I am watching three sunspots and repositioning a fourth before it strikes for us. I cannot relax my guard, even for an instant."

Sentinel took her duties seriously, it seemed. "Okay then," Zyan confirmed. "Let's get this done."

He took a pair of tongs from Sothi and positioned the black in their grasp. Shara donned her gloves. Sentinel was just above head height, so there was no need for a ladder this time. They positioned themselves underneath her existing crystal – Shara got ready to catch.

Zyan steeled himself, then offered up the crystal. It disappeared into Sentinel's mass, taking the tongs with it, but he was ready for that, and released them in time. There was only the merest trace of link shock – Sentinel was pretty expert in blocking that out, it seemed.

Her colours and patterns quickened and shifted, and she glowed brighter. Zyan looked down.

Sothi looked down and to the side, and his hand went to his ear as someone reported something to him over his comunit. "Sunspot activity has begun to drop off," he reported.

"And will continue to do so," Sentinel said. "Gratitude upon gratitude at this, it is all I could have hoped for and more. Prepare to receive my previous Life Stone, Fierce Heart."

The sliver of blue dropped slowly from the mass of the Junk – Shara caught it easily and, hard-nosed professional that she was, immediately stashed it in her crate without looking directly at it.

Zyan exhaled the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in. That had been considerably easier than he'd expected.

Sothi was still listening in to his reports. Klerney was looking at him with concern, though, and came over to place a suited glove on his shoulder. "Um, you okay there, Loves Without Judgement?"

"Think so, yeah," he answered. "Just 'Zyan' will do, Klerney."

"Sorry," she said. "I sometimes forget not to use people's real names."

Zyan looked at her. Real names: she was closer to the Junks than she was to other humans, it seemed. "That's okay, Little Sister," he said conspiratorially. "I won't tell if you don't."

She grinned in response.

Shara sealed the crate up. "Okay, we're good to go."

"I would speak to Loves Without Judgement alone," Sentinel announced unexpectedly.

"Okay," Klerney agreed readily.

_Interesting_, Zyan thought, hoping that some light was about to be shed on _something_, at least. Everyone else had reservations, though. "Is there an issue with the crystal, Sentinel?" Sothi asked.

"Confirmation that there is _not_, Listens To Wisdom," Sentinel replied. "There are questions that go unanswered, though. Therefore I would speak to Loves Without Judgement alone."

Everyone looked at Zyan, who shrugged. "Fine by me," he said.

"_Not_ fine by me," Shara cut in. "No offence intended, Sentinel, but I'm not leaving Loves Without Judgement alone with black crystal. He has..._issues_," she said, immediately projecting waves of do-not-mess-with-me that absolutely nobody could mistake.

Klerney was now wide-eyed with worry. Sothi looked concerned, too, and Brendan had arranged a similar expression on his drone-face. Shara had a look on her's that Zyan was well acquainted with. It was a look that said _I have made my decision, and if anyone has an issue with it, they're going to have to go through me, and they better believe that won't be easy._

"It's okay, Shara," he said. "I'm happy to talk with Sentinel," he shot her as much of a meaningful look as he could.

She wasn't having it, though. "Not it's not. You know how you get," she said stubbornly.

"My word, Fierce Heart, that Loves Without Judgement will not be harmed in any way. Like you and everyone here, he is under my protection," Sentinel replied.

"He's under _my _protection too," Shara stated.

"And it is formidable," Sentinel said, without any trace of condescension. "I would not have you for an enemy, Fierce Heart, but you need not defend him from me, now or ever."

Shara actually seemed to consider this. She looked at Zyan.

"My decision," Zyan told her. "I'll be fine and I'm not worried for my safety. Go finish the other installation, and I'll catch you up."

Shara nodded and acceded. "Very well, Zyan."

This was a galactic first. Short of deploying tactical directed energy weapons, Zyan hadn't known there was a way to make Shara relent. Mind you, Sentinel probably _was_ a tactical DE device in her own right.

She looked back at Sentinel before she left, though. _Something_ passed between them, he would swear to that. Then Shara nodded, discarded her aura of threat and imminent violence as if it was a coat, and smiled at Klerney. "Lead on," she said.

Although there were a few backward glances, everyone left, leaving Zyan alone with Sentinel's glowing, coruscating bulk.

"I know you regularly face off against the implacable nuclear fury of a sun," Zyan said, "but that's literally the first time I've ever seen anyone make Sha-, Fierce Heart change her mind."

"The others chose wisely when they gave her a name," Sentinel replied. "She just told me, for example, that she would be more than amenable to taking on the task of getting blood from a stone if I harmed a single cell in your physical being or gave you the slightest insult in any way."

"Ouch. Sorry," Zyan replied with a wince.

"An apology is not required. Fierce Heart would do anything to defend her family, and I esteem her for this. She is like me, and like you."

"I don't think she has much in the way of family," Zyan told the Junk. "She was pretty much a self-contained package, back where she comes from."

"There are bonds stronger than shared genetics or memetics, Loves Without Judgement. Do not deny you have this knowledge. You are her family, and she is yours, as Little Sister is mine despite all the unimportant differences of shape and nature," Sentinel stated.

"You got me – she's a pain in the shard, but she's _my_ pain in the shard," Zyan admitted. "Anyway, you have questions?"

"I said that there _are_ questions," Sentinel corrected him.

"That you did," Zyan agreed, reviewing what had been said. "Vibrations, pretty patterns and crystals aren't your only form of communication, are they?"

"Denial at this," Sentinel answered. "They are. Before we go further, though, you must swear what is referred to, among your kind, as an oath."

"I can keep a secret," Zyan told the Junk.

"I know. Confirmation at this: you will not tell anyone besides Fierce Heart, Wind Catcher and Soul of Song what you are about to learn of us. They too can keep secrets."

"I so swear," Zyan affirmed.

"Acceptance at this," Sentinel replied. "You will need to look up, Loves Without Judgement. I will not hurt you."

Zyan had been studiously looking at the floor and repeating his 1-2-3-4 shield. He screwed up his courage and looked at Sentinel's patterns, watched them moving back and forth, and opened his mind to them.

"You are correct. Together, the patterns and Life Stones allow us to perceive a little of your kind in the way we perceive each other."

"So you _can_ read minds?" Zyan nodded. It was not a surprise.

"Happiness at verifying your analysis, Loves Without Judgement. How else would we know what to call you, without that we had seen it in your beings? Little Sister is, to us, one of us: born here and of this place, it is what she is. Soul of Song carries music within her, it is the way she perceives the world, and all life, to her, is a symphony of individual notes. Wind Catcher lives forever, in his deepest being, with an eye upon his sails, whether he wishes them to catch a literal wind or a figurative one – that is how he navigates existence. Fierce Heart is a warrior through and through and always will be – even those that gave her a name amongst your kind knew this," Sentinel explained.

"Ferozacorazon," Zyan said, getting it for the first time.

"Fierce Heart in another, ancient language – but the meaning is the same," Sentinel said. "And do you not love without judgement? Your beloved, we have perceived in your mind, is like us. Unique amongst her own kind. Where others would quail from such a power, you embraced it, and her, without a single question."

"She's...an empath, yes," Zyan said cautiously. Alenda's true nature was a closely held secret – only the Crystal Singer, the Guildmaster and Zyan himself knew the full extent of what she could do.

"I am looking deeper than _that, _Loves Without Judgement. Worry not, though, we too can keep secrets," Sentinel assured him. "Empaths of your kind have visited us, and the memories you hold of your beloved are different to what we sensed from them."

"Okay – but I've sworn an oath to you. You swear one to me now – you won't give up Alen-, my beloved's secret."

"Affirmation at this," Sentinel responded. "We will not."

"Thank you," Zyan said.

"We may be able to help her with her gift," Sentinel said.

Zyan stopped and blinked. "What? She's fine, she's got it under control. The problem is that we don't know where she _is_, not that she can't handle it. The Crys-, Soul of Song thinks, I mean I think she thinks, she has to have deniability, you see, she thinks that you could help _me_ somehow."

Sentinel actually sighed, which was slightly unsettling from a Junk.

"You are not, I think, the one that needs our help most, Loves Without Judgement. It is unclear what the problem is, but it cannot be denied that there is one," Sentinel said.

"Sentinel, I'm sorry, but I _do_ know what the problem is. Like I said, she's missing, and the only people who might know where she is aren't talking," Zyan said.

"We have faced the same challenges as your beloved and overcome them," Sentinel said.

"I gotta say, you've lost me now," Zyan admitted.

"I have reached the limit of what I can sense and what I am permitted to offer you, Loves Without Judgement. If you can bring your beloved to us we can commune with her. Then we will know more," Sentinel said.

"I don't know where she is," Zyan said, desperation edging his tone.

Then, it abruptly clicked. _Extend the hand of friendship, get in touch and keep in contact._

Could the Crystal Singer have meant those words _literally?_

Zyan didn't wait for confirmation – he yanked off his right glove, reached up and put his hand on Sentinel. There was sudden heat, but no pain, then:

He was on his mother's knee, watching his other mother dance. He clapped and laughed.

He was holding his mothers' hands, at a mandatory public punishment, watching a dissident get ten lashes from a neurowhip. His sister was crying. He pleaded with his parents to take them away, but they knew that would risk the displeasure of the Prot authorities, and dared not.

He was in the academy, meeting a recruiter for the rebellion in a back room. He was in an ambush, pulling the trigger of a pulse rifle for the first time. He was at the controls of a stolen Prot shuttle, jinking to avoid anti-aircraft fire from all sides. He slammed the jury-rigged fire control of the railgun he'd retrofitted in the cargo hold, and earned the name Black Zyan.

More memories flickered past. Prison. His trial. Escape. Vander. Zyan's return to Djiel. He went on to Ballybran, his first experiences with crystal, finding Yanikov's claim and cutting black for the first time. Chalice. Shara. Meeting Alenda. Her beauty – breathtaking on the outside, even more so within. The pure ferocious love he had for her.

Her pain. His concern. Her fear. His reassurance. Her helplessness. His forgiveness.

Her erasure of it all.

_What? This, this didn't happen! She isn't able to do that!_

The stream of memories halted. Zyan found himself looking up at gigantic stained glass window. He was standing in the cathedral on Regulus. Alenda was beside him – but there were no crowds of sightseers. The cathedral was empty.

"Alenda!" He exclaimed.

Alenda did something odd – she extended her hands, opened and closed them. Ran them over her hair.

"Alas I-we are not your beloved, Loves Without Judgement," Alenda said, then furrowed her brows in confusion. "Erm, probably not. Possibly yes?"

"Sentinel?" He asked. "Also: _erm_?"

"An expression of doubt, which I-we have just this moment learned," Alenda-Sentinel told him.

"I know what it means, I just didn't think I'd hear it from _you_," Zyan was wide eyed.

"I-we are not usually given to doubt, no," Alenda-Sentinel agreed.

"Which one of you?" Zyan asked.

"I-we don't really know, Zyan. Terribly sorry – I-we are in unexplored territory," the image of the woman he loved gave him a helpless smile.

"You just called me Zyan, not Loves Without Judgement," Zyan pointed out.

"I-we are starting- _I'm_ starting to get a handle on the whole name thing, at least yours anyway, " Alenda-Sentinel told him. "This is closer communication than I've had before. I'm able to tell a lot."

"Yeah, _really_ lost now," Zyan admitted. "You're just using her image?"

"_Partial_ confirmation at this," Alenda-Sentinel replied. "This is as new to me as it is to you. When we first accessed the memories of one of your kind, it was chaotic, unexpected. I believe you would say that we were 'winging it'. We are wiser, now, though: we have had time to think. I borrowed her form in your memories, and within this memory-place, you may talk with me. With her. With us."

Zyan decided to just go with it. "What's happened to her?" He asked.

"You already know that, Loves Without Judgement. I have told you, several times."

Zyan thought back and remembered. As he did so, Alenda-Sentinel spoke Alenda's words.

"Sensing people's thoughts was enough responsibility. I don't trust myself not to control people. I don't trust myself to even know I'm doing it."

He remembered that conversation, before she'd left – and the six conversations before, almost exactly the same.

"Shards above," Zyan said to her, forgetting that this was just (probably) an image of Alenda. "You can _control_ people?"

Sentinel seemed to have forgotten who she was, too. "Yes, I can. I'm very, very frightened, Zyan, and I made some bad decisions because of it. I never wanted to lose you – I love you. I have unlocked that which I locked away from you. I held back from erasure. I'm more in control than I know, and not as weak as I feared. I just need a little help to unlock my full potential."

Zyan brushed past the confusing jumble of identifiers, and gathered her in an embrace. Alenda returned it. "Anything. What can I do?"

"You can kiss me, Zyan," Alenda told him.

Zyan was about to do just that, but then stopped. "Isn't this cheating?"

"It is a metaphor, Loves Without Judgement," Alenda-Sentinel said. "I know what your beloved needs to once again be the mistress of her own fate, but you lack the experience of Life Stone based telepathy to communicate this in words. The transferral of knowledge, in this place, requires intimacy. I'm sure that I would be okay with it, Zyan, so stop being such a prude and kiss me already."

"In for a penny," Zyan said, uncertainly, and then followed orders.

A welter of information passed into him as their lips met, but he could only grasp the edges of it – Sentinel was right, he didn't have the experiences that Alenda had to enable him to understand. He'd been given someone else's memories to carry, and he'd just have to hope that Alenda would be able to make use of them when he caught up with her.

Alenda-Sentinel pulled away and smiled. "Have a little faith, Zyan. You were right and I was wrong – together, we can find a way. Come find me and kiss me again – then I'll know what I need to know, although it's not _entirely_ on the unlikely side that I'll be, well, swept off my feet is probably putting it mildly. It would probably be wise to make sure there's somewhere for me to sit down and/or fall over while I download and process. This isn't something that's been attempted before, it could prove to be...physically demanding."

"Got it, but where are you?"

"P13205," she said, stepping away.

"Where's that?" Zyan asked, as the light from the window began to glow and shift.

Alenda shrugged helplessly. "That's all I told you, so that's all I know – but I'm sure you'll figure it out, or at least that Shara will. Fierce Heart is smarter than you are, after all."

Zyan narrowed his eyes. "That's you talking again now, isn't it, Sentinel?"

"Confirmation at this, Loves Without Judgement," Sentinel said, with a laugh from her Alenda-form as she did so. The light grew in brightness, and the movement of the stained glass pieces became a whirl. "I'm not _wrong_, though."

Zyan drew his hand back from the Sentinel, and the patterns slowed, dimmed and then faded to a uniform grey glow.

"Are you well, Loves Without Judgement?" Sentinel asked, through the speaker – it was Alenda's voice, and this did not surprise him.

Zyan nodded. He actually was – his weariness was gone. He flexed himself – no pain, but then again there wouldn't be – then bent over and picked up his glove. "You must've learned a thing or two since you did this with Soul of Song," he said.

"We have, but don't go spreading that about. Soul of Song kept what happened to her here a secret, because she doesn't want this to become a regular ocurrence. I tend to agree, as do the others. I learnt much just now, but I think, as they say, 'we can take it from here'."

"My lips are sealed. I won't be able to keep that oath when I find Alenda, though," he said. "She'll know what I know."

"I'm okay with that," Sentinel replied. "She's a good person, and she can keep secrets better than anyone I've ever met. Not that I've actually _met_ her, but, well – this is still a bit confusing, to be perfectly honest with you. Influencing the multivariate factors required to divert a solar flare is a walk in the park compared to human emotion."

"You've changed," Zyan said. "You talk more like a person, and you sound like her."

"Apologies at this, Loves Without Judgement. I will stop," the voice swung back towards the Crystal Singer's soprano.

"It's okay, I don't mind. Pretty sure Alenda wouldn't either," Zyan said.

"Would you be terribly offended if, in time, I shared some of what I learned from you with the others? I promise to be discreet, but as you can tell, this has really given my language skills a shot in the arm," Sentinel asked. "And I don't even _have_ arms."

"Cool with me," Zyan said. "I owe you for what you gave back to me, just now, anyway."

"We owe you for the Life Stones," Sentinel said. "Between them and the impromptu insight into the human condition that you've just given me, we'll be able to accelerate our plans for galactic domination and wipe out all organic life within a _century_ rather than a thousand years. You get a free pass, though: everyone needs a pet, after all."

Zyan gave a snort of laughter. "Guess I've now only got myself to blame for any quote-unquote improvements to your sense of humour."

"Who's joking, inferior meat-sack?" Sentinel said, then laughed. "Actually, that one was more from Fierce Heart – you just gave me the tools to understand it. Now get out of here and go rescue your damsel in distress – but promise to come and visit again, and bring your beloved with you."

"I will," Zyan promised.

\- o O o -

He contacted Shara over BlackTalk – she'd finished her installation and was on her way back to find him. He told her he'd meet her halfway.

"Did you get any useful intel?" She subvocalised the question.

"Oh yeah," Zyan confirmed. "We have a destination."

"Excellent. I've been chatting with Brendan and I think I know how to get him to help us get there, or at least part of the way," Shara replied.

"Good," Zyan said. "Hey, Shara."

"What?"

"I, um-" He stopped. His conversation with Sentinel had made him want to tell Shara that she was, in fact, family to him too. He just didn't know how to say it without coming off like a sentimental idiot.

"You, um, what?" Shara prompted him.

"I'm really glad you're here, Fierce Heart," he said.

"Obviously," she replied. "You wouldn't last five minutes without me."

"And I know it," Zyan replied.

"Hey, Loves Without Judgement," Shara said.

"What?"

"Given that we're doing this over a super-secure black crystal com system, and nobody else will ever hear me say it, I'm going to open up to you. You ready?" She asked.

Zyan, walking along a dimly lit tunnel, smiled. "I'm braced, hit me."

"I mean really ready. I'm talking complete emotional honesty here."

"Tissues at the ready, here, Shara, don't worry."

"Okay: you're not _entirely_ an idiot and sometimes I'm a little bit glad you're around, too," she said.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome. I also feel the same way about Alenda and Aviczue and Jo and like, _dozens_ of people. Hundreds, really. An argument could even be made for thousands and I haven't even _started_ getting into the ranking system. You're not at the top, but it's no big deal. Don't get all self-important on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, still smiling.

"Good. Now shush, Little Sister's starting to think I'm talking to myself."

\- o O o -

With all the installations complete, their assignment was finished. There was a final encounter with the biggest Junk in cave 15, where the Junks professed their gratitude and reaffirmed the friendship between Opal and the Singers of the Life Stones for all eternity. Klerney gave them both an enormous hug and made them promise to come back one day. Zyan didn't doubt that they would. Sothi invited them to stay longer, but they declined the offer, although Zyan requested the use of a data terminal for a few moments, to send a message to the Heptite Guild confirming that the assignment had been completed successfully.

Zyan dutifully sent his message, then accessed the galactic encyclopedia in the private mode that was the right of all FSP citizens. P13205 turned out to be a catalogue number for a planetary system a long, long way from Opal and Ballybran both. Zyan ran some numbers. If Alenda was there, she had another thirty-eight days before she had to leave and head - at standard FTL speeds – straight back to the home of the spore that kept her alive. That assumed, of course, that the standard 200 day limit applied to her: but she wasn't a singer, in daily contact with crystal, so her limit could be shorter. Zyan avoided the traitorous thought that it might already be too late.

Moving on: P13205 was a nothing system – empty of life, no indication of resources that weren't available more easily elsewhere, and none of it's five planets were habitable. It had once been on the edge of explored space, but had long since become just another system of no interest to anyone.

He looked up the nearest systems. There were several that fit the bill, but one was a cut above the rest in terms of what he was looking for – a real stroke of luck, in fact. Zyan grinned, made a few notes on his wrist unit, and then wiped the history of his searches from the terminal.

Brendan lifted off an hour or so later, laden down with two crystal singers and the best wishes of an entire alien race and their little adopted human sister. They sat down in the mess, and Brendan once again played waiter.

"Back to Ballybran then kids?" He asked them.

"Not quite, Bren," Shara answered. "Listen, we haven't been entirely honest with you. CS Ree chose us for this assignment because, well, yes she trusts us offworld but _on_-world? Not so much. We were causing a bit of trouble on Ballybran. She made it clear that we should stay away for a while, and give the dust time to settle."

"Shara tends to hit other singers," Zyan said. "I tend to insult them if they wind me up." He wasn't actually lying, he rationalised to himself.

"In our defence they can be real sharders," Shara said.

"Hmm. I sense interesting gossip," Brendan said.

"Happy to relate that to you," Zyan said.

"You were telling me on Opal that you once played yacht for Lars and Killa?" Shara prompted Brendan.

"Aha!" Brendan said. "We come to the heart of the issue. For the privilege of a little bit longer spent in your charming company, CS Fierce Heart – and docking fees plus fuel and supplies at cost – I should be delighted to reprise my role as glorified yacht. So, where to?"

"Where do all crystal singers visit at least once?" Zyan asked, affecting a whimsical air he did not feel. "Maxim – where everyone's wildest fantasies are available, as long as you can pay – and we most definitely can." _And where we can hopefully also hire a ship with a captain who won't ask questions, or even better without a captain_, he added mentally.

"And we want to make the most of our time – can you burst jump us there?" Shara added, making her eyes big and pleading. It was a masterful performance.

"Of course, and in only-" Brendan paused, "two days, seventeen hours, thirty eight minutes."

"You're an absolute star, Brendan," Zyan said. "You don't know how grateful I am for this."

"It's nothing, I assure you. I feel a sort of, I don't know, fatherly affection towards the Jewel Junks. You've helped them greatly, today. The least I can do is give you a lift," Brendan told them. "Let me know when you're ready to hit the radiant tanks and we'll be on our way."

Neither of the singers hung about waiting – they finished their drinks for the look of it, and then went immediately to the radiant tanks.


	4. Chapter 4

The longer Zyan lived outside Djiel and travelled around, the more he came to realise that while the FSP might like to make a big noise about the equality of all it's member worlds, some planets were definitely more equal than others.

Some had vast natural resources at their disposal, like Chalice or the Trundomoux system. They needed only to exploit them – staying within the bounds of the FSP's conservation laws as much as was plausibly deniable – in order to accrue huge stacks of credits which could then be re-invested in their systems, or used to lobby the FSP Session.

Some had, by luck or by judgement, a single resource unique to their world. Ballybran was the obvious example, Djiel with it's intilla powder another. Carefully leveraged, this niche position could translate into wealth, influence and power. The Heptite Guild had managed this: Djiel hadn't, but might yet try again once all the redevelopment loans were paid off.

Others made a single trade their specialty and worked to keep on top of it. Yarra was the galaxy's brewery, a position it had held for centuries, upping it's game to see off any challengers. Regulus was a planet of administrators – project management was nearly a religion there. Fuerte was devoted to music above all else. Other worlds were known as hotbeds for science and technology, or seats of great learning.

Madame Supplicantata Maxim (real name Susan Jarvis – distant ancestor? Probably not), the founder of the world that would eventually bear her name, had taken one good look at all the nascent industry and effort springing up around her in the galaxy and been struck with a singular insight: nobody had specialised in sin yet. With a single-minded drive, she set out upon a mission to create a world dedicated to, in her own words, 'the pursuit of any pleasure of the flesh and spirit, without judgement – one rule only: nobody gets hurt'.

Her timing couldn't have been better – at about the same time, an obscure world in the Scoria system had started producing some odd black crystals: the larger ones could be wired up into zero-time-lag interstellar com networks, and this 'Heptite Guild' was tipped for great things off the back of this discovery, but nobody really knew what to do with the smaller ones yet.

Madame Maxim did. She had, amongst her client list, a cyberneticist of considerable ingenuity and extremely non-standard leisure pursuits. He developed a way to have the crystals interface with the human sensorium; she negotiated the bulk purchase of any black crystal which could not be used for anything else. The Heptite Guild's first Guildmaster knew how to back a winner: he let the whole lot go for a nominal fee of 'an old half credit', a five percent share in any future profits for the next one hundred and one years, and, or so salacious rumour had it, a torrid whirlwind affair with the beautiful Madame M. Thus, the Maxim-Kerensky Sensorium Interface was born – but they were better known as pleasure booths. Total immersion: customers didn't even have to know it wasn't real, if they so chose.

Now Madame Maxim really was in a position to make good on her mission statement: with the booths, anyone could do exactly what they wanted, with exactly who they wanted, whenever they wanted – for a reasonable fee, of course. This was the holy grail of the 'leisure' industry. The punters, and the credits, literally flooded into Maxim. A 5% slice of that flooded back out to Ballybran, and essentially underwrote the Guild's expenses for the next century.

The FSP, of course, went into regulatory overdrive – the influx of visitors to Maxim in it's early years was 50% paying customers and 50% assorted FSP investigators, missionaries, nay-sayers and moralisers: but the cash tsunami bought a lot of influence in the Session, and Madame Maxim had clients at every level. Maxim stayed open: and to the founder's credit she stuck with her original 'nobody gets hurt' philosophy. Cash also flooded out to good causes: Madame Maxim was a genuine philanthropist, true, but it never hurt to purchase a bit of extra goodwill. The population even declared her Queen. She died extremely happy at a ripe old age, surrounded by four generations of her descendants, and her legacy was looked upon as a generally positive thing.

Zyan, reading about all this while the _Are We There Yet?_ approached the planet in question, felt vaguely guilty. Maxim was supposed to be a beacon of tolerance and open-mindedness, and he was here to find the shady underside and exploit someone who'd fallen foul of it.

Some unfortunate people just needed to gamble, and Madame Maxim and those who came after her were not fans: people got hurt, so while you could _simulate_ winning or losing a fortune in the booths, there was no real gambling on Maxim. There were other worlds – Baliol being the notorious example - that catered to such vices, true, but inveterate gamblers weren't always in a convenient locale when the itch needed scratching. Zyan and Shara were hoping that one such gambler owned a ship currently in the Maxim system, and that he or she had landed themselves in trouble, needed a quick injection of credit to get out of it, and weren't too fussy about the conditions attached to said credit. Given the sheer number of vessels in orbit it didn't seem - pun intended - to be a bad bet.

The _Are We There Yet? _was a superior vessel in all regards, of course, but when the pair of singers set course for P13205 they would be flying in the face of the FSP. This ruled out going aboard Brendan, because he'd be duty-bound, once it became clear what was happening, to stop them. If for some reason he _didn't_ decide to stop them, then he'd be in very serious trouble too, and it seemed unfair to put him in that position when it wasn't necessary. Fortunately, while listening to Brendan recount how he'd agreed to ferry the Guild's leading couple on a personal pleasure cruise, Shara had hit upon a perfect compromise: get Brendan to take them most of the way to P13205 at his insanely fast top speed, and then obtain slower but more controllable (neither singer wanted to _say_ disposable, but they both knew what they needed) transport for the final short hop, which was only an hour or so at standard FTL speeds. After that, well, by that point they would be improvising and, probably, dodging around Exigency.

Black Zyan and Shara the ex-revolutionary from Chalice might have been very iffy characters, but CS Jarvis and CS Ferozacorazon, members of the prestigious Heptite Guild and _extremely_ minted to boot, apparently rated an official welcoming committee. This irritated Zyan quite disproportionately, because although he had no way of forging an alternative identity at present he'd been careful to book unassuming accommodation (which, with any luck, they wouldn't need anyway) and a simple, no-frills orbital shuttle. He'd stopped short of outright asking for his and Shara's identities to be kept secret, though – there was usually no better way of attracting attention than trying too obviously to avoid it. On Maxim, however, the reverse was apparently true and it was someone's job to monitor arrivals for anyone they thought needed the VIP treatment. So, instead of the quiet hotel room at the edge of Maxim City they were informed – in a gabbled, confusing sort of way by a man's voice apparently on the edge of hysteria - they'd been given use of a city centre riverside apartment, and instead of the anonymous orbital taxi, an ostentatious golden-hulled monstrosity of a shuttle eased up alongside the _Are We There Yet?_, much to Brendan's amusement.

Brendan continued chortling as the lock opened to reveal their welcoming committee. Zyan hadn't been sure what to expect of the interior of the shuttle – he'd been privately dreading some sort of red velvet and diamond hellscape draped with semi-naked models – so it was actually a relief when the committee turned out to only have one member, an astonishingly pretty dark-haired woman in a relatively conservatively cut green silk dress.

"Welcome to Maxim, crystal singers," she said, with an elegant curtsey. "My name is Merisa Jarvis, Assignations Bureau."

Shara grinned. "Charmed and delighted, Merisa. I'm Shara, this is Brendan, brain of the _BX Are We There Yet?,_ and this is Zyan Jarvis," she said, then turned to him with an impish grin. "Any relation?"

Zyan remembered what he'd just read when Merisa introduced herself.

Merisa smiled – she had a very pleasant one. "Well, yes, actually, as it turns out."

Cue an instant smirk from Shara, and a 'well I never!' from Brendan.

"Oh, do tell," Shara prompted the Maximese woman.

"Happily. Zyan and I are very distant cousins, you could say. When Djiel was in the news and the family name came up in connection to it, mother commissioned the FSP Genealogy Division to do a little research. We have a great-great-great-great grandmother in common – Dr. Annalita Jarvis, whose daughter Sianna Jarvis settled on Djiel after a career in the FSP Colonial Corps. We are both, of course, descendants of our honoured founder Susan Jarvis."

"Wow," Zyan said, genuinely surprised. "I, um, yeah, hi cousin Merisa, I suppose."

"Come aboard, come aboard," Merisa waved them through. "Mother is looking forward to meeting you. Do you have any baggage?"

"No, just these." They were already carrying their bags, Shara having found a way to stash her arsenal in hers. Zyan hadn't been able to get his range jacket into his, so he was wearing it.

"Mother?" Zyan asked, not feeling that he was really keeping up here.

"My mother, Sunita Jarvis, is the Queen of Maxim," Merisa explained.

Cue a moment of stunned silence from Zyan and Shara, while Brendan's drone bobbed about and giggled in a very undignified fashion.

_Of sharding course she's the sharding Queen,_ Zyan groaned internally. It had just become an order of magnitude harder to do _anything_ without tripping official alarms. Zyan forced his face into a mask of politeness, and didn't dare look at Shara, who would have realised the same thing.

"Brendan, Maxim is honoured to have you in orbit and we wish to extend you every courtesy. Do you require any supplies or refuelling? Maxim will provide these _gratis_ out of our planetary supplies." Merisa asked the drone.

"_Dear_ girl, you are most kind. A top-up of the old reaction-mass tanks wouldn't go amiss, thank you," Brendan replied. "Would you mind awfully if I tagged along via drone? I must confess I've never been to the surface."

"We would be delighted. Mother's invitation extends to everyone on board," Merisa said.

This was hardly convenient for Zyan and Shara's purposes, but, Zyan supposed, they'd already blown past 100% on the inconvenient scale and maxed out the gauge, so it essentially made no difference if Brendan was present too. Zyan decided he'd better play nice with his long-lost relation: there was nothing to be gained by being sullen, and she was, after all, an actual for-reals princess.

"The more the merrier," he said with a smile, stepping aboard. The interior of the shuttle was comfortable and well-appointed, but not ridiculously opulent. "Very nice of Her Majesty to let us use a residence by the river. Diplomatic quarters, I assume?" Those at least might be shielded and private – something may yet be salvaged from this.

"Oh – you don't know?" Merisa asked, eyes going slightly wide.

"Oh we don't know _what?"_ Shara asked, with a smile that was becoming more brittle and forced by the second. She _wasn't_ playing nice, it seemed.

"The River Palace is the official Royal residence – you'll be staying with mother as honoured guests. Zyan _is_ family, after all," Merisa informed them with a bright smile.

_Perfect,_ Zyan thought heavily. _Just sharding perfect_.

Shara's BlackTalk message arrived seven minutes later, while they were descending and she'd recovered her balance somewhat, chatting breezily with Merisa. From her tone in the message, though, she'd clearly recovered a _lot_ in those seven minutes, because she had _not_ been happy with him.

"You couldn't be related to a sharding freighter captain with elastic morals and a cashflow problem, could you? No, for you it has to be the sharding Queen of Hearts. Well played, idiot, another absolute Zyan Jarvis winner!" Her voice, even subvocally, could have cut through crystal without the benefit of a cutter. She apologised later – sort of – but Zyan couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. It wasn't his fault he had unexpected relations in high places, but their job had just got a whole lot harder.

\- o O o -

Zyan would only find out much later that Shara's choice of words wasn't a reference to ancient Terran literature, or rather it was a reference at one remove. The constitution of Maxim specified that only women could wear the crown (Susan Jarvis had held Views-with-a-capital-V on gender relations a little at odds with received wisdom) so there was always a Queen, never a King. Some media wag had, at some point, referred to the incumbent as the Queen of Hearts, and the moniker had stuck.

Zyan and Shara were taken to the River Palace by a somewhat circuitous and indirect route that included a floating shuttle landing platform in the middle of the river, a skimmer ride, and then a completely needless transfer to a clinker-built wooden launch rowed by a crew of eight intimidatingly well-built men for the final stretch. Zyan, looking at them, reminded himself he was a spore-supercharged hard case. Shara, wearing a speculative smile, was dividing her attention between Merisa and the men. Merisa, for her part, had noted this and did not seem to mind.

There was a light wind blowing, enough that normal conversation wasn't easy, but that also covered up a subvocal BlackTalk conversation quite well. Zyan went to real-time.

"Are you eyeing up my cousin?" He asked.

"Might be. She's a pretty girl. It's not against the law. She's got some fairly serious competition right now though. I wonder if your royal aunt would lend me a couple of her oarsmen for an hour or so?" Shara replied, and grinned sideways at him.

"Can we focus?" Zyan asked, frowning.

"I would so be laughing at you right now if I could. You are such a prude, it's almost a disability. Did transition do this to you or were you always this uptight?" Shara sent back.

Zyan didn't dignify that with a reply. "You've changed your tune a bit since landing," was what he said.

"Yeah, okay, that was a bit shardy of me, whatever. It's all good now, though," Shara said.

"Because my pretty cousin is twirling her hair and looking at you?" Zyan asked sarcastically.

"Not exactly. I've reconciled myself to the direct approach to getting transport instead."

"Which is?"

"We kidnap your cousin and force the Queen to lend us the royal yacht."

Zyan actually said "What?!" out loud at this.

"Sorry, Zyan?" Merisa asked him, distracted from her reciprocal study of Shara's face and figure.

"Um, what's that building over there?" He pointed to a random tall structure on the riverside.

"That? Oh, that's the main government building. My office is there – to be honest there isn't really enough space, but we love the old place so we make do," Merisa replied.

"Okay, thanks," Zyan smiled and nodded, then returned to his conversation with Shara. "Are you sharding serious?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. In fact, we really ought to act before we're surrounded by security. I'll get my knives out and deal with these eight muscleheads, you grab the girl, think you can manage that part? We go in three, two, and you should really see the expression on your face. Smile politely or your cousin will think you're not enjoying the boat ride. Again, I would _so_ be laughing right now."

"You are _such_ a sharding pain in the fardles, do you know that?" Zyan sent back, arranging a smile on his face so forced that Merisa would later tell him that she hadn't known he hated boats and felt really bad about making him go on one.

Shara looked at him sideways with a tight grin. "Gotcha."

"Cow."

"Moo."

"Seriously."

"Oh, give over. I've calmed down and thought, and we have options. We can make nice with your long-lost family and ask to borrow an FTL shuttle, then find an excuse to ditch the pilot and take it where we want to go," Shara said.

"Oh, you know how to operate an FTL shuttle, do you?" Zyan asked sarcastically.

"_You_ do, so stop being so negative. We can _buy_ an FTL shuttle, for that matter. You've got spacer qualifications, so it'll even be legal. It'll be expensive, but fortunately that's not an insurmountable problem for us right now, and Alenda's worth it. We file a fake flight plan saying we're going to tool about out in the asteroid belts or whatever, and we're home free," Shara said.

Zyan had genuinely not thought of this. It would mean a delay, true, but was probably a workable alternative.

"Could just steal one, for that matter," she added.

"We're leaving that as an alternative of last resort only just above kidnapping Merisa," Zyan stated, as categorically as he could when muttering secretly.

Shara said nothing for a moment, until: "So that's still an option, then. Good. I thought you were going soft."

Zyan didn't know whether she was serious or not, this time.

The River Palace wasn't, thankfully, some sort of gaudy fake castle but just a large compound of several buildings, many of which had merged into each other over the years of occupation by Maxim's matriarchs. They met the Queen herself on the steps of the main one, without excessive pomp – in fact she was sitting on said steps sipping a glass of wine, barefoot, and stood up with a smile as they followed Merisa over to her. She did have a pair of attendants with her, though, a woman in a hooded robe, who was holding a tray with a bottle and a man in similar garb, who held one with another three glasses.

Zyan's current mental template for regal female authority figures was, of course, the Crystal Singer, but Sunita Jarvis measured up quite well. She was, like her daughter, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with light coffee-coloured skin. She had an easy way about her, but the hint of authority was always there, too. Maxim might be a pleasure planet, but it was a planet nonetheless, and you didn't manage as the administrative head of one without knowing how to get stuff done.

Maxim's royals were, it seemed, a fairly informal lot: "Hey mom," Merisa greeted her. "This is Shara, the shiny floating guy is Brendan, the brain of the _BX Are We There Yet?_, and this is our cousin Zyan. Guys, this is mom, Sunita Jarvis, Queen of Maxim."

"Welcome to Maxim, everyone," the Queen greeted them, and handed out glasses of wine from the tray as she did so. "A pleasure to meet you all."

"Cousin," she said to Zyan, with an unexpected hug. "It's so nice to meet you. There was a plan to get in touch, of course, I believe we were planning on sending a message to your Guildmaster in the next month or so, to ask that you be released from your duties for a visit, but we're really pleased you've turned up unexpectedly and made that unnecessary."

Zyan inclined his head in response. "Thank you your, um, Majesty. That's what I call you, right?"

The Queen smiled. "Dear boy. No, Sunita will do just fine. We don't stand on ceremony on Maxim – it's almost written into the constitution. I hope you and Shara will enjoy your visit. Many crystal singers who visit here do so as couples."

Shara gave vent to a laugh that wasn't _quite_ derisive. Zyan blushed.

"Shards, we're not _together_!" He said. "Well, I mean we're obviously together, but not like together-together. She's just my friend. But also my partner. But not like a partner in the sense that, shards, I mean she's not _just_ a friend, she's a really _close_ friend, but not like a close-_close_ friend, just a really, she's more like a, um-"

"I'm his care worker," Shara interjected. Merisa giggled.

Zyan rallied and got his shards together. "Shara is a very good friend. We're in the same syndicate, which is like partners but there's lots of us. New way of doing things, on Ballybran," Zyan explained.

"I had heard rumours of changes in the Guild," Sunita replied, gracefully glossing over Zyan's gabbling.

"His fault – when he's not making a fool of himself in front of planetary leaders he can actually come up with good ideas once in a while," Shara put in.

"And of course both of you were instrumental in bringing about the Chalician Reforms," Sunita remarked.

"Well, I was on planet at the time, that's how I met Shara," Zyan said, with a slight shrug. This wasn't something he wanted at the forefront of any conversation.

"My dear cousin, I _do_ get intelligence briefings," Sunita told him. "Do not get me wrong – I had a great deal of sympathy for the Djielese cause and for Chalician reformation, and I could not be happier that those pickpockets in the comms industry have been delivered a slap on the wrist that will, I hope, keep them from being too rapacious for several years to come. I really am delighted you're here, having wanted to meet you for some time. However, for the record: you are on holiday and _not_ on any official business?"

"We are definitely not on official business," Zyan answered guardedly.

"Lars Dahl can be _such_ a rascal when he puts his mind to it: are you on any _unofficial_ business? Business that might require the selection of sharp and pointy things Shara is carrying in her bag?"

Zyan realised he'd badly misjudged the Queen.

"The shuttle is equipped with security scanners," Merisa informed them. "We are an open, carefree people on Maxim, dedicated to helping everyone enjoy themselves: but we are _not_ stupid."

"The Guildmaster hasn't commissioned us to do anything," Shara replied. "I like archery and knife throwing, it's my hobby."

"My dear, I don't doubt you're very accomplished at both, but they are hardly a _hobby_ for a former Chalician People's Front operative," the Queen said.

Shara sighed. "Told you we should've made a move on the boat," she subvocalised to Zyan, then turned back to the Queen. "We can assume we're covered by armed security?"

"That would certainly be sensible," Merisa said, and reached down underneath her dress to produce a stun pistol, which she trained on Shara. "Keep your hands out of your bag, Shara, and we'll _all_ be happier."

"Assignations Bureau?" Shara asked the woman.

Merisa gave her a thin smile. "Planetary Security. This pistol is configured on the assumption that it takes a _lot_ of power to put a crystal singer down in one shot, by the way. I may have overdone it, and it would be a real shame to leave an ugly mark on something so beautiful."

"Your cousin is _so hot_ right now," Shara subvocalised. Zyan rolled his eyes.

"Now now Merisa, there's no need for that kind of talk. Shara is a friend of the family, after all," the Queen said. "My daughter is sometimes a little difficult to restrain," she confided to Zyan.

"I can sympathise," Zyan replied, with a look at Shara. "What do you want, your Majesty?"

"Answers, dear. You really _are_ family, and family should be honest with each other. Why are you here?"

Zyan's mind was running at 110% trying to figure out if this was just the Queen doing due diligence when two singers with shady pasts turned up unannounced, or if she had some inkling that something was afoot, or had been tipped off somehow. Shara beat him to it, though.

"You can ask Agent Moran or Agent Saito that question, Sunita," she said. "They're stood right behind you. Brendan may have an idea, too – he brought _all_ of us here, after all."

"Okay, I'm officially impressed, CS Ferozacorazon," the male attendant said, pushing his hood back and putting down his tray. The female attendant also removed her hood – they were indeed Moran and Saito, looking tired, pale and drawn, but it was definitely them: and they too had sidearms, currently pointed at the ground but certainly open to re-pointing somewhere less safe. "Your file said you were good."

"Sometimes you _can_ believe everything you read," Shara said, with a shrug, and finished her wine. She held out the glass. "Bren, be a dear, would you? Now that Agent Saito has switched back from a career in waitressing there's no-one else to pour the wine."

Brendan's drone whirred around to retrieve the bottle. "Sorry," he said, as went past. "I didn't enjoy deceiving the pair of you."

"Oh, don't worry, you didn't: not for very long," Shara informed him icily.

"How long have you known?" Saito asked.

"Since Opal," Shara told the Exigency agent, with a glare.

Zyan was willing to bet she'd only just clicked to it, but kept silent. He didn't dare use the black crystal earbud to check, right now, but the reason for their extended journey from ship to palace was now clear: it had allowed Moran and Saito to beat them here. He thought fast: there was no reason to assume they knew this visit to Maxim was anything more than a last-minute impulse decision to go and have some fun rather than head back to the Guild. They might yet bluff their way out of this.

"Shara, when Bren refills your glass _don't_ try and grab the bottle from him and do something violently dramatic like you're totally planning to do," Zyan said, as the drone approached with the wine.

"I was not!" Shara protested.

"Yeah you were, you were doing your imminent violence face," he said.

"I do _not_ have an imminent violence face," Shara protested.

Zyan just stared at her and said nothing.

"Oh _fine, _I'll behave," she said, with a slight pout. "_Someone_ refill this glass, though."

Zyan looked at Moran and Saito, but addressed the Queen. "Right, listen up, what we've got here is a case of someone putting two and two together and coming up with fifteen million. I've been warned off causing any trouble, and since Shara is also known within the Guild as a direct-action type of girl, the Guild sent us _both_ off-world to keep us out of mischief. I don't _like_ being put on the bench, though, so I figured I'd burn up a big wadge of credit in the galaxy's premier forgetting-about-your-problems destination until you guys either did what you promised you'd do and brought Alenda back home safe and sound or saw some sharding sense and decided to take me up on my offer of help," Zyan said, putting as much weariness into his voice as he could muster.

"Hmm," the Queen said. "Shara?"

"Seriously, does it matter at this point? I just want to know if we'll have access to a bar when you put us under house arrest."

"Shara," Zyan said.

Shara rolled her eyes and expelled her breath in irritation. "_Yes_, it's a spur of the moment jolly. I've been on at him to sharding get over his last relationship for what seems like forever, might've known when he finally takes a step in the right direction the universe would step in and ruin it," Shara said, in a martyred tone. It was well done: she'd evidently been paying attention when Shecherzia employed it.

The Queen looked at the two Exigency agents with an inquiring look.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but I think we'll have to take them both into custody nevertheless," Moran said. "Jarvis and Ferozacorazon may or may not be telling the truth – it is hard to determine."

"They are FSP citizens, Agent Moran, and my guests. Zyan is, in reality, a member of my own family, however distantly we may be related," the Queen told the man. "Nobody is being taken into custody. Do I make myself understood?"

Zyan wouldn't want to be the one who had to argue with her level and determined tone, and was more than happy to see Moran looking distinctly uncomfortable as well as physically unwell: he wasn't sure why, until he remembered that the agents had endured the same series of singularity jumps as Shara and he had, and without the benefit of a helpful spore to aid in their recovery. It must have been gruelling for them, and-

"You don't know where she is," he said, as he realised _why_ they'd put themselves through the journey.

There was another moment of silence.

"Well, _this_ is awkward," Shara said.

Moran's look of discomfort increased, although Saito had her FSP mask more fully in place.

"You've lost her. _That's _why you were on Ballybran – not to interview me about her, but to make me think she was in trouble so I'd go after her and you could follow me," Zyan said, thinking out loud.

"Lost who?" The Queen asked.

"This is a conversation best had in private, CS Jarvis," Saito said. "Your Majesty, do you have a shielded room in which we can speak to CS Jarvis alone?"

"Yes, but you won't be using it," the Queen replied. "There are quite enough secrets already. Keep going, Zyan."

It was Shara that picked up the thread, though. "You arranged to have a B&B ship on hand with a previous association with the Guild – Brendan. You were betting that CS Ree and the Guildmaster would make use of him to send Zyan after Alenda."

"Ah – Alenda Falkstrom," the Queen nodded. "The Guild's top lawyer and Lars Dahl's right hand woman."

"And niece," her daughter said.

Brendan addressed Shara, and shook his body in a negative gesture. "My involvement isn't as direct as that, Shara – I was hanging around Ballybran because of the Opal assignment, that much is true. Agents Moran and Saito merely took advantage of that fact, and have the authority to compel me to assist them. They _are_ senior federal agents and I am an FSP vessel," he said, apologetically.

"Okay, but still, you could have just _asked_ if she'd told me where she was going," Zyan said.

"And you would have happily told us?" Moran retorted with heavy sarcasm, and he appeared to also be shaking, now, with either fatigue or rage.

"I offered you my _help_, shardbrain," Zyan told him.

"The matter is of the highest secrecy," Moran said defensively, lip twitching. "I was not about to invite random civilians along."

Saito's mask had now slipped also, but she was looking at Moran with surprise, not at Zyan with anger.

"You didn't even try," Zyan told him. "All it would've taken was 'we've lost your Chief of Legal, we don't know where she is, but if you can tell us then we can help her'. But you decided not to take that chance. You wanted to know without me knowing you knew, no, wait-" Zyan paused. "Your plan was to follow us, which means you'd at least accepted the risk of me knowing you knew. You didn't want the _Guild_ to know."

Saito's expression was now one of pain, and she backed away from Moran, with a hand over her eyes as if she was looking at something painfully bright.

"Patrick, what's wrong, your feelings are-" Saito said.

Moran gave vent to a low cry.

"Zyan, he's got a _pulser_, not a stun pistol," Shara warned.

"Agent Moran, are you unwell?" The Queen had also moved away from Moran – Merisa moved decisively towards her mother, having evidently re-run her threat analysis and slotted Moran in above Zyan and Shara.

"Moran, put the gun down." It was Saito that spoke, as if she was in physical pain herself. The male agent had raised his pistol, and it was weaving around, trained first on Saito, then Merisa, Zyan, Shara, the Queen: and then _himself._ He then repeated the sequence again.

"But you can't kill Brendan," Zyan said, abruptly realising what the weird gun movements meant, if not why he was doing it. Moran meant to eliminate witnesses, and then kill himself. "This is pointless, Moran, Brendan's linked to his brain in orbit. All this is already recorded. This is a no win situation, for you, give it up."

"Tomiko, I'm sorry!" Moran nearly shrieked, staggering backwards, and falling down onto his behind on the steps.

Moran's gun was currently trained on the Queen, and Merisa wasn't going to be able to get her out of the way in time.

"Everybody down!" Zyan shouted, and hurled himself between Moran and the two Maximese women.

He felt a hard pressure on his back, and a bizarre tingling sensation. He was pushed suddenly off course, crashing into the Queen and her daughter rather than standing in front of them as he'd intended. He heard the whine of Moran's pulser, Shara cursing, the whirr of Brendan's anti-gravs peaking suddenly, a thud. Moran stopped shrieking, then there was the tinkle of broken glass.

He couldn't see anything but the steps underneath him as he landed. A moment later there was the harsh buzz of a stunner.

"Confirmed shooter is down," Merisa said, evidently into a comm. "Agent Saito, drop your weapon. Do it now. Shara, _amazing_ throw, now help Zyan. Security and a med team to the main courtyard, now!"

"What? Who'd he get?" Zyan asked, trying to get up. His left arm wasn't working for some reason and his back felt funny. It felt warm and wet.

Shara appeared at his side. "You, you idiot! Don't try and move."

"I'm fine, stop fussing," Zyan said, pushing himself up with his right arm and then trying to feel his back with it. It came away wet with blood.

"Zyan!" The Queen exclaimed.

"Oh, hey. You're okay. Good. I wasn't entirely honest about this being a holiday, your Majesty, I'm really sorry," Zyan told her.

"Zyan, lie still or I will knock you the shard out so you _can't_ move," Shara growled at him.

"What? Why?"

"You've been shot, you complete moron!" Shara shouted.

"Oh," Zyan said, surprised. "Figures, I suppose. Can't be too bad, it doesn't hurt."

"I can literally see your spinal column and there's a chunk of rib missing," Shara informed him. "So keep still."

"Oh dear," the Queen said, abandoning an attempt to stand up.

"Med team is inbound, ETA two minutes," Merisa said, then spoke into a comm again. "Somebody get a medkit here, now."

"I _do_ feel a bit light-headed," Zyan admitted, similarly abandoning his own attempts at uprightness.

"I'm not surprised, half of your blood is on the steps," Shara informed him. She was doing something to his wound, putting pressure on it.

"Oh shards, really?" Zyan said, again faintly surprised, but finding himself oddly calm. Perhaps it was the symbiont. "I'd best say a few things, in that case. Find Alenda and tell her I love her. Tell her to go and see Sentinel – that's very important. And you, I-"

"I know," Shara said. "Me too. Don't get dead. Hear me?"

"I wouldn't dare," Zyan said, with a smile. "You'd kill me."

"And don't you forget it," Shara told him.

\- o O o -

He didn't get dead, but he was two days in hospital, in and out of consciousness (the spore's doing, not the hospital's ineffective drugs). There were guards in his room, he vaguely noticed – and Shara. The doctors made a tremendous protest when he announced, on the third morning, that he was leaving. He told them to do another scan, and Shara waved her Guild ID around to make them comply. They did the scan – his foreshortened rib was found to be whole, and there was no trace of other damage save for three scars where Moran's pulse rounds had pierced his flesh.

"You must've thought it was worse than it was," Zyan told them.

"He was wearing his Guild issue work jacket – those things are designed to keep out spican quartz shards, they're going to do quite well against pulser rounds too. Lucky escape, etcetera, now someone go bring him his clothes," Shara said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

The doctors left. Shara hugged him so tight that he could swear it was almost painful.

"Don't do that to me again, shard for brains, okay? You had me worried," Shara told him, when she let go. "Also, if you tell anyone I hugged you or told you I was anything but breezily indifferent to your plight, I will make a pulse burst in the back seem like a pleasant massage in comparison, understood? I have a reputation to maintain."

"Deal," Zyan said.

"Also I'm having a kind of holiday thing with your cousin now," Shara informed him.

"I figured that was in the offing, Shara, though you do realise this is not a holiday, right?" Zyan asked her.

"Nonsense. There's spies, betrayals, secrets, some reasonably interesting violence and now I'm having an affair with a beautiful princess – it's just the _best_ time. Thanks for inviting me along," Shara grinned.

"The pulser burst in the back kinda put a downer on it for me," Zyan told her.

Shara made a dismissive wave. "Pah, it's been obvious since like an hour after you got here that you were going to be fine. I'd've been utterly bored out of my mind if Merisa hadn't arranged for us to use the adjoining room," she said, indicating the door to the left of Zyan's bed.

"Okay, so literally as soon as I was out of the woods you've been cavorting with my cousin in the very next room," Zyan shook his head.

"Seemed a bit disrespectful to do it in here," Shara shrugged. "Also, I know you're still technically in hospital but your use of the word _cavorting_ just now is not going to go away any time soon, you know that right?"

"Yeah, I figured that as soon as it left my mouth. Just don't tell Tornaz," Zyan said.

"There is absolutely no chance I'm not telling Tornaz, this is almost better than the crab thing," Shara giggled, then handed him something from a pocket. "Here, I managed to get this out of your ear after you dived heroically in front of the Maxim royal family."

The earbug. Zyan tucked it back in.

"Is this room secure?" He subvocalised as soon as it was in.

"Yes," Shara said out loud. "These are the rooms set aside for the royal family, guaranteed bug free, and FYI I've decided to trust Merisa so she knows what I know now anyway, as does auntie dearest,"

"Okay, fine," Zyan nodded in acceptance – they had little choice except to trust Merisa and the Queen, after all: about as much choice as he had in Shara referring to the Queen as 'auntie dearest', although he could choose not to rise to it, and resolved not to. "You know there's a time limit on whatever you have with Merisa, right?"

Shara nodded. "I probably paid more attention in full disclosure than you did, so you can cut the concerned older relative act," she said firmly.

"My bad, sorry. Bring me up to speed."

"Right, so you took a burst in the back for Merisa and the Queen. I disobeyed your orders and _did_ do something violent with the wine bottle – I threw it underhand into Moran's face and knocked him flat, which was really quite amazingly cool, even if I do say so myself," Shara said, miming the throwing of the bottle again.

"I did wonder what she meant by 'amazing throw'," Zyan admitted.

"She meant it was an amazing throw, which it was. She's all about the compliments, is your cousin. Amazing _this_, unbelievable _that_, almost unbearably good _other thing_-"

"Yes, okay, thank you, I get the picture," Zyan cut her off.

Shara gave him an evil smirk, then continued. "Anyway, Merisa put a stun bolt into him – she wasn't lying about her piece being juiced up for our benefit, that thing did leave a nasty mark – and now he's in a coma. We don't know why the hell he did what he did, but Saito said to leave him under so in a coma is where he's staying, for now. That's about all she's said: she's under not entirely voluntary protective custody in the Palace, and after showing some actual emotion for maybe five whole minutes when Moran went crazy she's gone full impassive Fed again, and will only talk to demand she be allowed to contact Exigency. The Queen isn't having it and has kept this whole thing under wraps, in system and out, although I don't know how much longer she can manage that – Saito did access Maxim's black crystal comms _before_ Moran flipped out, so presumably their presence here is known, but so far we've heard nothing from Exigency,"

"Long may _that_ continue," Zyan nodded.

"Auntie dearest was okay with me contacting the Guild, though – we're flavour of the month, now you've done the hero thing – so the Guildmaster and the Crystal Singer know what's happened. She responded to say she's glad you're not dead, we're probably in a whole lot of trouble, and they're going to hit the FSP with a diplomatic smart torpedo to try and shake something loose. Until and unless that works they can't _officially_ task us with retrieving Alenda on behalf of the Guild, so basically we're still on our own although Merisa says she's not only happy but positively ecstatic about Maxim Planetary Security providing as much clandestine support as they can. Brendan is still in orbit, with a Maxim customs cutter keeping a close eye on him – he seems genuinely sorry about what he did, and I've forgiven him, it's not like he had a choice with Exigency pulling his strings. He's offered to take us anywhere we want, even if it lands him in trouble, but although I've _forgiven_ him I'm still not 100% on whether we can trust him or not, especially given whatever happened to Moran, which has freaked me the shard out, by the way, big time," Shara finished.

"You're not the only one," Zyan said. "As soon we twigged that he and Saito were tailing us, he started acting strange. I thought it was just stress and singularity shakes to begin with, but then Saito recoils away from him like he's on fire and it almost looked like he was fighting with the gun, trying to keep from firing – if he wanted us all dead he just needed to pull the trigger a little bit earlier."

"You're saying he was being controlled somehow?" Shara asked.

Zyan went cold, and it wasn't just the thin hospital gown he was wearing.

"Othello once played with the idea of using post-hypnotic suggestion to get Octo agents to flip for us, but it was a non-starter," Shara mused. "Suggestions or mental blocks require that the subject is co-operative."

_Alenda wouldn't have that problem,_ Zyan thought, and hated himself for even thinking it.

"Maybe Saito could tell us more, but she isn't talking," Shara finished.

_What if this power turned me into a monster? _Zyan remembered Alenda's own words – words that she had then blocked from his memory.

"Hey, you gone into thrall there?" Shara waved a hand in front of his face.

"No," Zyan said. "Just...thinking. Is that everything?"

"Yes – except that auntie dearest is very much on our side and very distressed that she acceded to Exigency's demands for assistance, and then this happened to her nephew on her turf. You'd think it was her that'd shot you and not Moran. Expect hugs and mothering," Shara advised him.

Zyan nodded. "I need to talk to Saito, and Moran," he said.

"He's doing an impression of an inert rock, and frankly she isn't much more responsive," Shara reminded him.

"Then we need to wake them _both_ up," Zyan insisted, almost in a snarl. "What the shard is taking so long? Are they _stitching_ my clothes together out there?" He got up, and went to the door the doctors had left through.

"Easy, tiger," Shara said. "They'll be here soon, I'm sure."

Merisa – in her planetary security uniform - turned up a few moments later with clothes for him, including his jacket, cleaned and repaired. Zyan couldn't get dressed quickly enough. He wanted answers.

\- o O o -

There were no answers forthcoming from Moran, who was in the very same hospital.

Maxim City had one of the best neurology departments in the galaxy, because idiots.

Humans being humans, there would always be some people who wanted to push the limits of any given leisure pursuit to the very edge of advisability and then beyond – and pleasure booths were no exception. The official establishments had various safety protocols in place to ensure that extremes of pleasure and pain were kept to levels the human brain could cope with, but there was never a shortage of people willing to pay extra for these to be disabled, and sadly also not a shortage of questionable operators willing to oblige. Penalties for running a booth with the safeties off were severe, but the payoff could be handsome, too. With depressing regularity, a punter would run a program that fried his or her brain, and Maxim City General Hospital's neuro trauma ward would receive another patient.

Lucky for Moran: he was in the right place at the right time to have a severe neurological event. Looking at him, though, 'lucky' didn't seem like the correct word to describe him. He floated in a radiant tank, hooked up to various bits of medical kit that Zyan had never seen before, wearing what the Chief of Neurology called a fool's crown: a thick semicircular metallic device that covered most of his head, monitored his brain functions and could even intervene in them if necessary: Zyan could feel the tingle of black crystal from it.

"Despite the almost unprecedented level of trauma, in time, he will recover," Dr. Kelaz said. She was a very tall, very dark skinned woman – evidently from a low grav planet, as she wore an unobtrusive antigrav frame. She was the uncontested galaxy-wide expert in brain trauma across several species. Even Zyan knew this without having to be told, as Donalla – who was also tasked with treating idiots who pushed their brains to their neurological limits – was something of a Dr-Kelaz-the-Neurological-Wonder-Doctor fangirl and would expound upon her professional idol's achievements in excruciating detail, given half a chance. Even without this foreknowledge, though, Zyan would have believed her every word, as she positively radiated calm competence.

"We have taken the unconventional step of suspending all but the most basic of functions, to prevent his brain from compounding the existing damage, and to enable healing. With the exception of a few autonomic routines, Agent Moran is essentially on pause while he recovers. It will be a great deal of time before we can even start to think about bringing him back up to something approaching consciousness, I'm afraid," the doctor informed them.

"Could you provide a more exact estimate, Doctor?" Merisa asked.

Dr Kelaz shook her head. "Months, not weeks," was all she would commit to.

That closed the door on interviewing Moran – Alenda didn't have months to spare. Merisa led Zyan and Shara – the latter by the hand – to an official aircar, which would take them to the River Palace.

"I want to see Saito next," Zyan said.

"Of course," Merisa replied. "Do me a favour, though?"

Zyan looked at her quizzicially.

"See mother first," Merisa said. "My comm is filling up with messages asking if you're okay."

"Told you," Shara said.

\- o O o -

Zyan had found a cold, hard core somewhere inside himself – a relic of the Djielese conflict, like a bunker which had stood empty for a while but was still standing - and had retreated into it. Information could get in and speech could get out, but there was a total embargo on emotion.

Zyan tolerated Sunita's – to be fair, very real – concern over his well being, and, as warned, a goodly number of hugs and a fair amount of mothering. He assured her, blank faced, that he was fine. She made it clear that she felt personally responsible for his being shot, and that she owed him her life and her daughter's. Maxim could not publicly defy the FSP, but he could count on whatever covert support they could provide. Merisa had shelved all of her other responsibilities and would be working on nothing else.

"Number one on my list is to talk to Saito, Your Majesty," Zyan stated simply.

His manner clearly had her worried, but she acceded to his request. Merisa led them deep into the River Palace's warren of guest accomodation – past several guards – and up to a guarded and locked door.

"She's in here," Merisa said. "She's officially a guest of the crown, unofficially she's been told she's going nowhere, officially-unofficially we've probably only got a day at most before we _have_ to tell the FSP something and can still use an apparent attack on the royal family by an FSP agent as an excuse for keeping things hush-hush so far. We'll have to release her quite soon, and when she does, she'll contact her superiors again."

"Understood," Zyan said.

"She's said absolutely nothing of any import whatsoever apart from asking after her partner and demanding access to our black crystal comms node. She's done nothing apart from sleep, eat the meals provided and watch the news net every now and again," Merisa informed him. "The rest of the time she meditates or does kata."

"Amateur," Shara sniffed. "She hasn't even raided the bar. Wait, do _I_ have a bar? I'd've checked but I haven't needed to use my own bedroom yet."

She smirked and shot a smouldering look at Merisa. Merisa smiled in return.

"What did she watch?" Zyan asked, ignoring Shara.

"Just the news cycle summary, she hasn't retrieved any specifics on anything," Merisa answered.

No clues there. "Self contained unit," Zyan said.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Merisa agreed.

Zyan opened the door and walked in, not bothering to knock. Saito looked up from a cross-legged posture in the middle of the spacious suite she'd been provided (and confined to), then stood, unhurriedly. "CS Jarvis – it is a relief to see you have recovered. The incident on the palace steps was regrettable."

She delivered this in a deadpan, neutral tone that conveyed neither relief nor regret.

"Duly acknowledged, I kinda regretted getting shot in the back by your partner too," Zyan said acidly. "Tell me what I need to know to go after Alenda. I'm guessing, being as how you're empathic and all, you can tell how very, very angry I am right now, so it wouldn't be a good idea to disappoint me."

"I can tell you no more now than I could on Ballybran, CS Jarvis," Saito replied. "Apart from to remind you that entering a lady's quarters unannounced is a Privacy violation, as well as just plain rude. _I_ am not rude, however, so please, sit," she indicated a sofa.

"I'll stand," Zyan said.

Saito inclined her head millimetrically in response. Her face was set in impassive Fed mode, giving nothing away. "The best thing you can do for Senior Counsel Falkstrom is to release me from this confinement, tell _me_ everything _you_ know, and allow me to use Maxim's black crystal comms node."

"No dice, Saito," Zyan said. "Start talking, or you may not like what comes after."

"You're an experienced guerilla warrior, CS Jarvis, but I'm not worried for my safety, because you are not needlessly violent," Saito replied.

Shara coughed. "He can outsource that very easily indeed," she said flatly, producing a knife from somewhere and twirling it expertly round her fingers.

Saito's expression didn't change in the slightest. "Your reputation speaks for itself, CS Ferozacorazon. I have no doubt you'd inflict pain if you felt it was necessary to help your friend – but it won't help you achieve anything except arrest, conviction for assault and a very long custodial sentence. Sentences for very serious crimes are meted out as percentages of expected lifetime, so in your case that would be a very long time indeed."

"Maybe you won't be around to report anything. Maybe Moran managed to shoot his partner before he took a shot at a crystal singer and the royal family of an FSP member planet," Shara told the woman. "I never did get the chance to cover up a murder in the CPF, and I have to admit I'm curious."

"Inspector Jarvis, CS Ferozacorazon would appear to be making threats. Am I safe here?" Saito addressed Merisa.

"The attack on her partner has no doubt angered and upset CS Ferozacorazon, so her words are – to me – entirely understandable. You are, however, under the protection of Maxim," Merisa replied, diplomatically. "But I'd advise you to co-operate nonetheless. As I've said before, our report to the FSP can be written to emphasise your helpfulness despite being a fellow victim, or your utter indifference to an attack on the royal family carried out by your own partner. If we call for your head, we _will_ get it."

"I'm to be decapitated now?" Saito raised an eyebrow.

"An unfortunate choice of words," said Merisa, in a tone that suggested she thought it was nothing of the sort. "It is, of course, your _career_ that will be cut short. You can add in a private prosecution as a chaser, too: I for one find it hard to believe that Moran could plan an assassination attempt _alone_. If you don't like that story, then change it: talk to CS Jarvis off the record, and our official report to the FSP will use phrases such as 'helpful and professional while adhering to her orders as regards secrecy' instead of 'recommend immediate investigation as an accomplice'."

"Well, that outlines two different outcomes," Zyan said. "What I actually meant was that whether or not you tell me anything, my next move is to go after Alenda, and unless you give me something now, I will be going in _hard_. Guns blazing, the hell with the consequences, anyone and anything in my way will be history. It'll be noisy and I'm betting that'll mean worse things for your job security than anything my cousin can manage alone."

"Now _that_ is a more realistic threat. Black Zyan rides again – all too believable," Saito said.

"It's more of what you might call a statement of fact. If you still want in on this op, this is your chance to have some input. A case could even be made for you coming along," Zyan dangled the bait.

"I cannot tell you anything," Saito replied simply. "For the record I will say it again: if you want to do the right thing for Alenda Falkstrom, you will share any information you have regarding her whereabouts with me and grant me access to offworld communications."

"Given that it was an Exigency agent that nearly succeeded in killing everyone in this room – yourself included - how about no? Let's try something more specific: who is the one-eyed man?" Zyan asked.

"The one-eyed man? You're getting ever so slightly melodramatic, CS Jarvis," Saito replied, with a very slight allowance of sarcasm.

"Moran's scar-faced mate: older, grey hair in a ponytail, cybernetic left eye," Zyan reminded her.

Saito had, so far, demonstrated about as much emotion as a crystal face, but at Zyan's description she involuntarily paled and, even though it was frosted plasglas, tried to look out the window. "He's here?" She asked, with a look of consternation and fear.

Well, that was an interesting reaction. "And if he is?" Zyan asked.

"Kill him!" Saito said without hesitation, and indeed with a hint of desperation. "Do not approach him, do not try to arrest him, do not try to reason with him or threaten him or give him any kind of warning. Take him out from as far away as you can_, and make sure of it,"_ she said emphatically.

Merisa and Zyan were both taken aback by Saito's forceful declaration – even Shara was slightly surprised.

"Isn't the FSP all about due process?" She asked. "Shoot on sight is a bit extreme."

"No," Saito told her. "_Extreme_ is what will happen if you miss."

"Why – what makes him so dangerous? And does he have Alenda?" Zyan asked.

Saito went as far as to open her mouth, then closed it. "I cannot tell you," she said, "but _please_ heed my warning. If you won't do it yourselves, give me a pulser with a telescopic sight and I will take care of it."

"You're not even getting a butter knife, Agent Saito," Merisa stated, matter-of-factly.

"I'm calling dibs on any sniping, anyway," Shara put in.

"When you say 'cannot', you really mean it, don't you?" Zyan asked her, following a flash of inspiration as he put together Saito's behaviour with what Shara had said earlier about Othello's experiments with hypnosis: mental blocks required consent. "You've fixed it so you just _can't_ talk about your assignment even if you want to. All you've let yourself do is issue a kill order for the one-eyed man if the chance comes up."

Saito was terrified of the one-eyed man, and Zyan's first reaction was to feel relief: _he_ was the bad guy here, not Alenda. This realisation was followed quickly by renewed fear for her, though – what if she had been kidnapped by the dangerous man, who wasn't even supposed to be approached, for a reason so terrifying that Saito had stopped herself from revealing it to anyone?

And, as his mind whirred, Zyan had a gloomy idea what that reason might be. He looked down, then up again at Saito. As understanding dawned, he felt himself go cold all over, and his expression must have changed. Saito saw him suddenly click to what he was facing, and although she didn't say anything or nod, she couldn't prevent a slight widening of her eyes. That was all the confirmation he needed.

"Oh, shards," he couldn't stop himself from saying.

"What, Zyan?" Shara asked.

"Are there any countermeasures?" Zyan asked Saito.

Saito's expression changed again – was there a faint tinge of hope, there?

"Countermeasures against what?" Merisa asked, confused.

"I will speak to CS Jarvis – alone. No guarantees. My personal effects contain a jammer, that I-" Saito started.

"Got you covered," Zyan said, reaching into his jacket for the jammer – but it wasn't there.

"Here," Shara said, handing it to him. "Took it out of your jacket before the medics found it."

"Is it effective?" Saito asked.

"It was designed by the best," Zyan told her. "Any monitoring devices installed in this room by the Maxim government will not work. No offence, cousin."

"None taken," Merisa replied.

"Very well," Saito nodded.

"You sure you want to do this alone?" Shara asked.

Zyan nodded.

"We'll wait for you in Shara's quarters – the guards will direct you when you're done," Merisa said.

Shara turned to follow Merisa from the room, but paused in the doorway. "Anything nasty happens to him, this one-eyed ghost'll be the least of your problems," she said, before leaving. The door slid shut behind them. Zyan held the jammer up, and turned it on so she could see he'd done it.

"I think you've got something that I need to hear," Saito said.

"He can control people, can't he?" Zyan asked. "He can make people do what he wants them to. He programmed Moran to go into full psycho mode and clean up any loose ends if it looked like someone was onto his location, and he did it right under your nose."

Saito's expression changed suddenly. "Congratulations, CS Jarvis. I expected CS Ferozacorazon to figure it out, if either of you did."

"I hear that a lot, seems like," Zyan replied.

"Your protege is very intelligent, CS Jarvis. Before she joined the Heptite Guild, she was earmarked for recruitment by the Sensitive Exigencies Branch. She has an unique skill set, as you have no doubt noticed," Saito told him, then looked upward, as if thinking of something. "Ah, pride, and is that a little flash of resentment? Don't feel too bad – we're all only human, after all."

Zyan started running his mental count, to try and keep his emotions private. She was good – he had indeed experienced a flash of pride at hearing his friend being complimented: and then remembered that _he_ hadn't got an invite to join the club when he left Djiel. Not that he would have accepted, and he doubted Shara would have either: the FSP hadn't exactly fallen over itself trying to reform Chalice, until the Guild had given them a hard push in that direction.

"Okay Agent Saito, I'll bite. How come I didn't come up in a list of likely Exigency cadets?" He asked. _1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4,_ he thought.

"You did, but you didn't make the shortlist. CS Ferozacorazon's profile indicates a core of loyalty, commitment to high ideals, but tempered with an, ahem, _moral flexibility_ that makes her ideal for the situations we regularly face in the SEB. You have the first two, you don't have the third," Saito explained.

"I knew the FSP was as likely to resort to black ops as anyone else," Zyan replied.

"Guilty as charged – but we're on the same side, CS Jarvis. You'll want to be sitting down for this," Saito hinted, indicating the sofa. This time he complied, and she followed him.

"You're right in that I have had a mental block introduced, at my own request, and for my own protetction. It does permit me, however, to reveal extra information to anyone who deduces what is going on, if, in my judgement, it is better that they know rather than remain ignorant," Saito told him. "First, however, you need to swear an oath."

"There's a lot of that going around lately. Go on, then," Zyan replied.

"I, Zyan Jarvis, swear, aver and affirm I will not repeat any of what I am about to be told to anyone apart from individuals indicated to me by Agent Saito, under penalty of a minimum of eight percent of expected lifetime imprisonment. Repeat that," Saito instructed him.

Zyan did so.

Saito exhaled. "Thank you – it'll be a relief to actually share this with someone, if I'm being honest."

"Okay, stop teasing and give up the goods, Saito," Zyan growled.

"The FSP is currently facing an emergent situation under the Steeplejack Protocol. Steeplejack refers to the covert takeover of the FSP by an entity with telepathic powers, able to influence other sentient beings and bring them under it's control. Until a few weeks ago we thought Steeplejack was just blue-sky planning – an exercise in creative thinking, designed to generate ideas and inform our planning on other, more realistic threats. I never thought we'd actually implement it – and yet here we are. It calls for a small team of empathic SEB agents and outside contractors to take whatever action is necessary to neutralise the threat. The person you describe as the 'one-eyed man' is such a threat. He has the innate ability to read, and importantly _control_, other peoples' thoughts," Saito said.

Zyan realised he had to be very careful here. He was open to the idea of telepathy because he knew Alenda could do it – and he'd made the mental leap to figure out what the one-eyed man had done to Moran because of what Sentinel had revealed about her abilities, information she'd hidden from Zyan. However, he couldn't let Saito know that. He had to be circumspect as to the roots of his suspicions.

"Blimey," Zyan said, running his count and trying hard to put stunned disbelief into his voice and his thoughts. "I'd figured this would be down to some sort of mind-interface tech, probably based around black crystal."

"So did we, at first," Saito replied, and Zyan ruthlessly crushed both relief and hope that he'd glossed over that successfully. "The one-eyed man – we know him as Jan Anderssen – came to the SEB's central bureau on Regulus several weeks ago, claiming that he was the captain of a private salvage vessel which had discovered alien technology capable of controlling sentient thought. He brought with him a small, six-inch long cylinder – which he claimed was a non-working example of such a device. More worryingly, he claimed that his first mate had led a mutiny, stolen several similar devices, then absconded with the intention of selling them on the black market to the highest bidder."

"Hold on a minute," Zyan interrupted. "How does a total randomer just swan into Exigency's head office and demand to see the manager?"

"He started at a regular FSP Civil Service office on Hardesty, and then talked his way up the line, or so he claimed. True enough, I suppose – it must have been simple for him to 'persuade' each FSP bureaucrat or agent to refer him higher up the food chain, with free transport on the fastest FSP vessels thrown into the bargain," Saito explained.

"So the device was genuine?" Zyan asked.

"No," Saito shook her head. "The device was a Reticulan artifact – a harmless piece of communication technology, very old and very broken. Obscure but hardly dangerous - you could get one for a few credits in any antique shop on Reticula. It was a prop, alien enough to be plausible to a layperson, at least for as long as Anderssen needed to bring them under his control." Saito stopped, and looked up. "CS Ferozacorazon said there was a bar – I think it might be time to take her advice and raid it, you're looking a little shell-shocked, CS Jarvis," she suggested.

Drinks were duly got – Saito had water, Zyan discovered a bottle of Yarran, ignored it and poured himself a large Kachachurian scotch instead.

"His objective, I think, was to get himself close to someone in authority in the FSP who could shut down any co-ordinated response to his actions, or at least put him in a position to control them: and he succeeded. Our bureau chief invoked the Steeplejack Protocol, activated Moran and I, and assigned Anderssen to us as an 'expert witness'. Completely against protocol, but by that point Chief Narovic was, of course, totally compromised. The first action on the plan was to recruit an outside contractor, someone known to the SEB for a long time, a former FSP agent and empath, with an advantage that might have proved very useful indeed," Saito went on.

Alenda. "You led him right to her," Zyan said, with a dark scowl.

"Yes, we did. Not that this excuses me from any responsibility, but that was Moran," Saito said.

"I know – I saw him on Shankill with the one-eyed man – Anderssen," Zyan said. "How come you weren't there?"

"In what turned out to be a very fortunate coincidence, I was off planet when Anderssen made his appearance. By the time I was recalled, they'd already left for Ballybran. Moran returned a few days later, and reported that Anderssen had gone with Alenda as per 'the plan'. We didn't know what plan he was talking about, and that's when we started asking ourselves some questions and realised we'd been duped. It was I that suggested we try and pick up some clues from you, but Moran had a refinement: we knew you distrusted the FSP, would seek to take matters into your own hands, and may have information we did not possess. He suggested we tracked where you went," Saito told him.

"He was playing you," Zyan said. "He wasn't after answers, Anderssen was using him to tidy up loose ends. Moran, I assume, knew about Chalice. He must have told Anderssen that Alenda had friends who were former resistance fighters, police and ex-military too, and that she may have told them where she was going, even if Moran swore her to secrecy. And _you_ should have known Moran couldn't be trusted, at this point."

Saito nodded in acceptance of that fact. "I knew, but what other move was there to make? Either Moran was free of Anderssen's conditioning, in which case following you was a good plan, or he wasn't, and following _him_ was a good plan. It was at this point I chose to have a mental block put in place, by someone unconnected to the SEB. You asked if there were any countermeasures? The truth is I do not know, but hoped the block would prevent me from giving anything away to Anderssen, should I fall under his control."

"You should_ not_ have let Moran near civilians with a sharding_ pulse pistol_, Saito," Zyan said darkly.

"Granted, and I apologise for that oversight: I did not know he had it – pulse weapons are not standard issue, even for SEB agents."

"You seemed surprised that Anderssen only had one eye," Zyan stated.

"I was – that must have happened after his initial visit to our central bureau: security footage shows him unscarred and with two natural eyes. Perhaps Moran did not succumb as easily as Anderssen might have wished," Saito said.

"Which is a hopeful thought," Zyan offered. Now that Saito was co-operating, he felt a little more charitable towards her.

"He _did_ still succumb, though," Saito pointed out.

"Yeah – but maybe I can do a bit more damage than a slash across the eye, if I'm given a chance," Zyan stated.

Saito sighed. "CS Jarvis, my purpose in revealing what I have revealed to you is not to better equip you to go after Anderssen, but to persuade you that it is foolishness. We are talking about a man who walked unarmed into the headquarters of one of the most secure agencies in the entire galaxy, staffed with highly intelligent, highly motivated people whose commitment to the FSP has been proved beyond question. People specifically trained to deal with esoteric threats to galactic security, including several empaths. He walked calmly in and had them all doing his bidding within a matter of minutes, and they – we – did not realise we had been suborned until he'd disappeared without a trace. Moreover, he was able to condition Moran – whom I can assure you has a highly disciplined mind – so effectively that I could not detect any traces of it."

"Well, he hasn't dealt with crystal singers yet," Zyan averred.

"Perhaps not, but he's dealt with a Heptite Guildmember very effectively, CS Jarvis," Saito said. "Alenda Falkstrom is a legend in FSP intelligence circles. Fifty years on, some of her missions are still used to train new agents."

Fifty years. Zyan hadn't known by exactly how much Alenda was his senior – in the Guild it didn't matter – but he was still surprised.

"On top of that she survived something that should have killed her, built a new life for herself on Ballybran and acquired empathic powers. We're also aware that despite being medically blind she can see perfectly well."

"How do you know all this?" Zyan asked.

"Because, for all intents and purposes, she still works for FSP Intelligence," Saito said. "You know this. Yes, the FSP does make occasional use of crystal singers and other key Guild personnel, but Alenda Falkstrom comes back time and time again, and the people she works with are observant, and take notes. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, CS Jarvis."

"But why tell me?"

"To emphasise that Alenda is resourceful, almost frighteningly intelligent, ruthless when she has to be, deadly when she wishes to be, and possesses unquantifiable empathic gifts. She is, to put it simply, superhuman, and – forgive me for speaking insensitively – Anderssen has either turned her, kidnapped her or killed her. If he had not, she would already have delivered his head to the SEB and be back on Ballybran," Saito said intently.

Well, that was blunt enough.

"So if she couldn't deal with him, what hope do I have, is that what you're saying?" Zyan asked.

"Sorry, but yes," Saito nodded.

Zyan's traitorous mind was adding a fourth possible outcome to Saito's list of possibilities: what if she'd found a kindred spirit in Anderssen? The only other person with power like hers – the only other person in the galaxy who might understand what she faced on a daily basis. Someone who might be able to teach her what she needed to know to control her own power, and thus keep her from becoming the monster she feared she might turn into.

He remembered her words before she'd locked his memories away from him on Shankill: _I may be able to learn something – it's a small chance, but now I have something to cling on to. _She'd spoken those words _after_ meeting Anderssen – for all Zyan knew, he'd explicitly made her such an offer, and she had accepted.

There need not even be any ill intention behind an arrangement with Anderssen: she may have concluded – not unreasonably – that the only way to manage a threat such as him was to work with him and bring him slowly around to a better use of his talents. It was anyone's guess, though, who would end up persuading who in that situation.

But Zyan loved without judgement. That was who he was.

"Saito, I don't think you've understood why I'm here," he told her. "I'm not running a Guild operation and I'm not on some sort of crazy vigilante mission to protect the FSP. Alenda is in danger and I'm going to find her and help her, and if she _is_ dead, then I'm sharding well going to avenge her. Anderssen could be a twelve foot monster shooting lasers out of his eyes, summoning up mach storms at will, and _I would still go to her_. For the record, Shara is possibly even more committed than I am. We're not going to be put off – either we win or we die."

"Then you will probably die, CS Jarvis," Saito replied, "and that is the _best_ case scenario."

His sympathy for her abruptly evaporated. "And what alternative have you got? What's Exigency's big plan to take Anderssen out?" Zyan demanded.

"I'm sorry, that information is classified – but I can assure you I _do_ have a plan. Tell me where he is – it's the best thing you can do for Alenda. Give me what I need to take Anderssen out. I'll make certain of it, that I promise you."

Zyan glowered at her, and stood. "Thank you for the information, Agent Saito."

"Remember your oath to keep it to yourself," Saito told him. "Anderssen could have ears _anywhere_. Trust no-one."

"Don't worry, I won't say a word about it to anyone who doesn't already know," Zyan told her, and left the room.

The door swished shut behind him, and the guard directed him to go up two levels for Shara's guest quarters. He thanked him and started walking, and tapped his earbud.

"You get all that?" He subvocalised to Shara.

"Every word," she replied.


	5. Chapter 5

Merisa was with Shara when Zyan got to her quarters. He'd agreed with her that they would mention nothing to his cousin right now, so it was supremely difficult to not talk about what they'd just learned.

Shara had been given a spacious, airy guest suite with a view over the river – unlike Saito's, her windows were unfrosted.

"What did you get from Saito?" It was Merisa that asked, after he walked in.

Zyan abruptly decided not to lie. "A great deal – but I had to agree to secrecy on pain of lots of jail time, so I can't tell you. I wish I could, and maybe when this has all blown over I'll be able to come back and fill you in, but right now I can't say anything. Sorry, Merisa," he apologised.

Merisa waved that away. "I understand, cousin. I wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of the FSP Secrecy Act either."

"Thanks. In related news, you're already pushing your luck holding her. How much longer can you get away with it?" Zyan asked.

Merisa bit her top lip and raised both eyebrows. "We haven't heard _anything_ from Exigency or the FSP, believe it or not. Saito's use of our intersystem network was encrypted, and purged from the message logs according to FSP protocol, so we don't know what she said or to whom, but she _must_ have sent a message to her superiors."

Privately, Zyan wasn't certain Saito had told her superiors a sharding thing – she didn't trust them. She'd communicated with _someone_, though.

"Something can't be far off turning up or otherwise making a move, then," Shara said, evidently thinking along the same lines.

"Have to assume so," Zyan nodded. "I think it's time to get back to securing transport for the next leg of the trip. Shara, did you fill Merisa in on what we were intending to do?"

"Yes – are you still up for roleplaying a princess kidnapped by an unscrupulous renegade crystal singer who just happens to be so hot it hurts to look at her, Meri?" Shara asked Merisa.

"I am totally up for that," she confirmed with a wicked grin.

"The _actual_ plan, Shara," Zyan sighed.

"I know that, idiot, and so does she," Shara rolled her eyes.

Merisa stifled a giggle. "Yes – we can point you in the direction of some likely candidates."

"Then I think you better do that ASAP," Zyan said.

\- o O o -

Maxim, unlike New Babylon on Chalice Prime, was a reasonably normal city – it had sprawled outwards, rather than upwards. The dominant architectural styles throughout the centuries had all favoured lots of steel and plasglas in bright, primary colours. From orbit, Maxim city looked like someone had loaded an antique cannon with handfuls of random jewels and shot them into the ground around the river. It didn't have much in the way of murky depths, either figuratively or literally. Merisa's colleagues in Planetary Security harboured no illusions about human nature, and therefore the city was quite tightly policed – albeit in an expertly unobrusive sort of way.

Maxim's criminal element, when organising illegal gambling sessions, therefore had to think creatively vis-a-vis both definitions of 'underground'. This was why Zyan and Shara found themselves in what could only be described as a pop-up casino which had been set up in the midst of a suite of rooms currently being redecorated. The work crews had been diverted for a few hours, but they had left multiple indications of their ongoing presence in the form of stepladders, power tools, paint guns and, importantly, sound dampening fields intended to prevent the noise of honest work from inconveniencing the neighbours. The proprietors of the flat-pack casino were clearly hoping they would also prevent the noise of dishonest work from inconveniencing the police.

In this they were very much mistaken – Merisa was aware of it's existence and the only reason it still operated was that she was waiting for them to turn up in person so she could arrest them. They had, so far, failed to oblige – they sent minions in their stead. These minions ran the tables and games, provided a basic level of security which ensured that if any cheating was going on then they sharding well saw a percentage of it, and collected debts owed to the house. Sometimes this last function required a certain degree of persuasion, and thus a subset of the minions were heavyworlder gentlemen who had not chosen a career in the FSP Marines but had instead opted to be all they could be in a different walk of life.

The pop-up casino offered all the staples of gambling – card tables, roulette, and feeds of sporting events throughout the galaxy upon which wagers could be placed. These purported to be live, via black crystal communications. If you believed that, Zyan thought, you'd believe anything.

In any case he and Shara were seeking a poker game. Poker had acquired some new variants and discarded some old ones, but the essentials of the game remained unchanged, and it had spread throughout the galaxy along with humanity, as popular beyond Terra as it had ever been upon it.

Zyan knew enough to get by in a game, even if he probably wasn't going to be winning any tremendously massive hands. He wasn't here to win, though, he was just here to be in the right place at the right time.

Zyan and Shara approached a doorway – the door to which was currently missing. It had been reinforced, however, with a pair of heavyworlders who seemed more than capable of regulating access. It had also been upgraded with a sensor arc, about which Zyan had no worries whatsoever: he was quite confident that BlackTalk was in a completely different league to whatever third-rate tech the arc could boast.

"Afternoon. This the poker?" Zyan asked.

The heavyworlders appraised Zyan and Shara. Shara appraised them right back, no doubt mentally picking out where best to shove something sharp for maximum effect. She was lithe and athletic, but also slim – the two men before her were mountains in comparison – but Zyan knew where he'd put his money if it came to betting on something more confrontational than cards.

Zyan's sole concession to formality for this little side excursion had been to ensure his boots were reasonably free of dirt from the ranges. Shara, on the other hand, had raided Merisa's wardrobe and armoured herself in a figure-hugging black dress and heels. Her hair was held up with a pair of metal sticks she'd also borrowed from his cousin, and then modified with an angle grinder until the ends hidden within her bright ginger hair were murderously sharp.

The bouncers weighed up his appearance and hers.

"Buy in is 5000 credits, with a fifteen percent rake – you wait for a seat and if one doesn't come up before we close, then you're not getting it back. Any fardling about, you're out and you lose your chips. She playing?" One of them rumbled.

"_She_ can answer for herself, and no, she isn't," Shara replied.

"In that case you stay at the bar. You talk to him, wave at him, even blink at him after he takes his seat, you're both out. We think you're running anything, you're both out. We just feel like it for whatever reason, you're both out," the man explained the exhaustive house rules.

"Whatever," Shara replied.

"Fine," Zyan confirmed, and held up his wrist unit. The other bouncer waved a wand over it, and the magic 5000 credits were transferred.

"Enjoy your game," the bouncer grunted, and waved them through.

The sensor arc was as impassive as Zyan had expected – either it wasn't up to the job of detecting BlackTalk or it was just window dressing to deter chancers.

Within was an actual, proper bar – recently installed, Zyan presumed. All the optics were empty, and the shelves barren: punters could choose from a pair of plastic boxes, one with beer, one with bottled water – on the plus side you didn't seem to be expected to pay for either.

There was also a table, overseen by another pair of generously-proportioned security. Each of the six chairs was occupied by a poker player, only one of whom Zyan and Shara cared about: Milo Vadansky, gambler and – the important bit – owner and captain of the _Ludlow_, an independent prospecting vessel.

Vadansky looked just like the holo in his police file – a middle-aged man with a lined face and greying hair, his eyes deep set and perpetually fixed upon the next game. He was a competent spacer and prospector – he could have been comfortably well-off and running his own fleet of ships at this point in his career – but he was nowhere near as competent at poker as he was at finding valuable minerals and resources in deep space.

"Remind me again why we can't just pay this guy for a lift?" Shara asked. "He looks like his needs the money."

Shara was right – Vadansky's stash of chips was just a few pathetic stacks, and whatever poker face he might have normally possessed had been melted away by signs of desperation.

"Because, for all that he's here playing in this absolutely 100% legitimate and above board poker game, he's not a criminal. We need leverage over him if we don't want him to immediately head back to the nearest FSP outpost when things get hairy – we need him to be more scared of letting us down," Zyan answered.

"I can do scary," Shara reminded him.

"I know you can, but you go away after a while. A debt hanging over his head to the likes of this lot -" Zyan indicated the heavyworlder security, "- will keep him on task without us having to lift a finger."

"Or cut one off," Shara added.

"You had to go there, didn't you?" Zyan winced.

"Yep," Shara smiled her slightly feral, worrying smile.

As it panned out, Zyan wasn't even required to take a seat and play. Another prospective player was admitted and took a place at the bar. Vadansky exhausted his supply of chips, negotiated somehow for more, burned through them in short order, and then was escorted by the heavyworlders through an exit behind ther bar. Zyan waved the other player in the queue into his seat, and Zyan and Shara followed Vadansky and his hulking shadows into the next room.

The heavyworlders hadn't wasted any time: Vadansky was already doubled over from a blow to the stomach when Zyan pushed the door open and stepped inside. They weren't alone with the spacer: another man was in there with them, a normally proportioned man in an unassuming grey shipsuit, with black hair and a sneering look to his face, as if nature had permanently installed something with an unpleasant odour just under his nostrils. Zyan disliked him on sight. The room was otherwise empty, apart from shelves around the wall – presumably where booze was stored. It had another entrance on the far side, a larger, metal door - presumably where booze was delivered.

"I'd close that door and walk away, if you know what's good for you," Sneery advised, from where he was leaning against a shelf watching Vadansky get a working over. He had a sneering tone to go with the look.

"Never was my strong suit," Zyan admitted.

Sneery grunted in irritation. "Glyd, re-establish our privacy in here, there's a good lad."

Glyd was the heavyworlder currently not tasked with hitting Vadansky, who turned around with ponderous implacability to make good on his boss's instructions.

Zyan wasn't entirely sure what happened next and in what order. He'd been about to hit Glyd as hard as he could, hopefully enough to make the point that he wasn't going anywhere until he'd had the chance to talk to Sneery. He didn't, however, get the chance.

There was a swishing noise from behind him and the sudden movement of air ruffled his hair. A few moments later, Glyd was on the ground, twitching slightly, with a high-heeled shoe embedded into each arm and a number of other small puncture wounds about his person. He gave vent to a tiny, pathetic wheeze quite at odds with his monumental physique and looked with terrified eyes at Shara, who was now barefoot, loose-haired and rather smug. She held her blood-stained hair pins in one hand and a large pistol in the other.

Zyan was amazed, and found himself unable to stop an involuntary "Shards!" from escaping his lips.

"Nerve clusters," Shara shrugged. "He won't lose too much blood and he'll be on his feet in a few minutes, well, not unless I've missed and hit a major artery, in which case, well, there's a mop and bucket over in that corner which'll probably come in handy."

The other heavyworlder started to reach into his jacket – Shara raised her pistol and said: "Uh-huh, big guy. Leave it where it is."

"Where'd you get that?" Zyan asked.

"Off of Glyd here. You really ought to invest in better holsters, by the way, this thing practically _jumped_ into my hand," Shara advised Sneery.

"You're going to seriously regret this. You know who you're about to turn over here?" Sneery asked, aiming for 'menacing', although given that half his hired muscle was in a twitchy pile on the ground and the other half was slowly backing up against a shelf looking extremely unsure of himself, he fell a bit short of the mark and simply sounded desperate. Vadansky, for his part, was trying to make himself as small as possible.

"I'll be honest here, there is no way I am _ever_ going to regret that," Shara nearly purred, then looked down at Glyd. "You really were an exceptional victim, thank you. Let's do it again sometime."

Glyd's eyes went even wider and he shook his head in a frantic no.

"Nobody's ripping anyone off," Zyan said, getting a grip on himself. "We're here to talk. If we can come to a satisfactory arrangement, then money will be flowing in one direction only, which is away from me and towards you."

"Why didn't you say so then?" Glyd asked, in a thin, hoarse and plaintive croak.

Zyan winced. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. You can't take this one anywhere. I feel bad about this – I'll pay the medical bill."

"Oh! No, I'll pay it," Shara said, as if she'd forgotten her manners and hadn't stood her round at the bar. "I got to stab him, after all, so I'll foot the bill. Fair's fair."

"Moving on," Zyan said. "I'd like to buy this guy's marker off you. Fifty percent of what he owes upfront, and sixty percent on completion of a little bit of work I need him to do for me."

The so-far-nameless heavyworlder looked puzzled. "That's a hundred and ten percent," he said.

"Not much gets past you, does it?" Zyan replied.

"Apart from us," Shara said.

"He sharding knows it's a hundred and ten percent, Korin," Sneery sneered.

"Indeed. The extra ten is to compensate your organisation for the, um, _trouble - " _he indicated the fallen Glyd " - and allay any worries you might have about the unconventional nature of this transaction," Zyan said.

"And where is this large amount of credit to be sourced from, may I ask?" Sneery enquired sarcastically.

"Oh, I dug it up here and there," Zyan replied – truthfully, for a given value of truth.

"Say we say yes – how do we know you'll make good on the second payment?" Sneery narrowed his eyes.

"You don't, but you can keep the first one no matter what, and then restart whatever procedure we interrupted when we walked in here to recover the rest, or, y'know, don't – I don't care, to be honest," Zyan shrugged, then checked his wrist unit. "Kinda need an answer sharpish, though – things to do, places to be."

"People to hurt," Shara added.

Zyan rocked his head from side to side. "Probably, yeah, it does seem likely. So…?" He looked at Sneery.

Shara indicated the large pistol she was holding. "How about we revise the first payment upwards by an extra 3 grand, if we can keep this and whatever Korin was going to pull out of his jacket. I kinda like the heft of it, feels quality. You can keep the holsters, though."

Sneery nodded. "Okay then – let's see the colour of your creds."

\- o O o -

"Eyes," Shara told Vadansky, a few minutes later, as they bought the shaken man a stiff double in a nearby _legitimate_ bar. She was cleaning under her fingernails with the sharpened tip of one of her large hairpins.

"Uh, what about eyes?" Vadansky asked her, unsure of himself and worried.

"They're...squishy," Shara replied, using her own to peer at the pointy end of the hairpin to see what she'd extracted. They didn't look squishy right now – they looked hard and determined. She moved the pin down to point directly at Vadansky's left eye. "Do you think they go pop if you stick something in them?"

On 'stick', she suddenly thrust the tiny spear forward, then pulled it back again. Vadansky looked terrified, as well he might.

"Okay Juliet, I think Milo's in a suitably receptive mood to consider our offer," Zyan interceded. They'd agreed to go back to their Chalician monikers for the duration of their mission.

"Like little wet balloons," Shara said quietly, then used the clean end of the hairpin to stir her drink.

"We're in need of a ship with FTL capabilities and a decent sensor package," Zyan told Vadansky. "The _Ludlow_ fits the bill. Should be quick – we go to a nearby system, have a good look round, retrieve something if we find it, come back, you never see us again. If you play nice and Juliet and I get back here safe, I'll pay off the rest of your debt, and even throw in five thousand for you. If you don't, I won't, and you can take your chances with sneering bloke and his pet mountains when the rest of their cash doesn't turn up."

"Also: pop!" Shara said, waving the hairpin like a wand.

Vadansky blinked. "Legal, is it?" He asked. He had some sort of weird dialect, kind of like Marin but even more chopped up. His file had said he was Aurigan.

"It's not an interdicted system, and nobody else has laid claim to it," Zyan replied.

"Salvage tip-off, is it? You'll need something bigger than the _Ludlow_, if you're planning on hauling a cargo out," Vadansky told them.

"We're not," Zyan answered. "We're also not answering any more questions. The trouble we're getting you _out of_ is way worse than any trouble this might get you into," he lied.

Vadansky snorted. "Crooked, this is," he said.

"But it's the only game in town," Zyan completed the saying.

This raised a grim smile from the prospector. "When are you wanting to be leaving, then?"

"Yesterday," Zyan told him. "My associate here'll go get our stuff, and we'll be off. You've got an hour tops, if you've got anything needs tying up planetside."

"Only an hour?" Shara asked, clearly disappointed. "I've got goodbyes to say."

Zyan sighed. "Fine – ninety minutes."

"I suppose that'll have to do," Shara pouted, and left.

"And I should file a flight plan for where, exactly?" Vadansky asked.

Zyan shrugged. "Anywhere not here."

\- o O o -

The _Ludlow_ was not a particularly prepossessing ship to look at. It had neither the sleek lines of the _Are We There Yet?_ or the deadly implacability of a warship – it didn't even have the form-denotes-function neatness of a freighter. Instead it looked like someone had welded every sensor array, dish and antenna they could find onto a cargo pod, and then retrofitted a singularity drive to it – because that's exactly what Vadansky had done when he decided to break into the prospecting game. He hadn't bothered to paint it an uniform colour or even to erase the name of the cargo line that had owned the pod, which was still visible beneath the profusion of sensor gear.

Zyan had flown any number of spacegoing 'technicals' - civilian craft hastily converted for military use – and regularly flew the skies of one of the most dangerous planets in the FSP in a sled he'd literally cobbled together from spare parts, but even he had standards.

"Is that sharding thing even survivable, Vadansky?" He asked the prospector.

The man shot him a sour look from behind the controls of his small shuttle – itself a repurposed life pod from the same defunct cargo line. 'Sour' was pretty much the only kind he ever gave. "She's a well-found ship," he grunted.

"I was wondering why someone hadn't taken it from you to cover gambling debts," Shara commented. "Now I know."

"I can take you back to the surface right now, you know. Find another ship if you don't like mine," Vadansky told her.

Zyan grinned and patted Vadansky on the shoulder. "I'm glad somebody loves her, Vadansky," he said.

Vadansky was unmollified by that, but on the other hand he was afraid of Shara, too, so he said nothing more and guided the shuttle into the _Ludlow's_ tiny bay, which was crowded with unmanned probes, remotely operated vehicles and another bodged shuttle conversion. Docking was achieved with a great deal of clanking, jarring and worrying graunching noises – the hatch itself lacked servos, and was opened manually by energetically rotating a handle. Vadansky's method of checking for a good airtight seal was simply to open the hatch a few millimetres and listen for hissing.

"Shards Vadansky," Zyan commented. "You really _are_ a natural gambler."

"Getting nervous, Hamlet?" Shara asked, with one of her trademark smirks,

Vadansky judged the hatch to be viable, and continued to spin the handle. "The made up names you don't have to bother with," he said. "I recognised you from the news, Black Zyan."

"Well, that's _that_ particular cat out of the bag," Zyan replied breezily. There was no way he was going to be able to maintain anonymity anyway, in the long term. "I'll be honest with you, Vadansky, I'm kind of glad. I never liked being called Hamlet. Always made me think people were referring to me as a small ham."

"So sorry," Shara said. "Next time we'll go with King Lear."

"No need to be sarcastic, Juliet, but would Henry or Richard have been out of the question?" Zyan shot back,

"We tended not to go with the normal-sounding names," Shara explained.

"Says the woman called 'Juliet'," Zyan pointed out.

"I was a special case," she replied.

"How come?"

"I was a lot scarier than the woman who ended up with 'Volumnia', that's how," Shara answered.

"Going to be like this the whole time, is it?" Vadansky asked gloomily, still cranking the handle.

"Yup," Shara replied. "Sue me."

"Don't worry, Vadansky, we won't be imposing on you for long," Zyan reassured the man. "Best case scenario, we'll be back here _today_."

The hatch handle suddenly started to whirl round faster than Vadansky could turn it, prompting Zyan to instinctively reach for the emergency seal button (there wasn't one) and Shara to pull out the stun pistol she'd bought from Sneery and level it at the hatch. It was a cheap copy of a knockoff FSP service stunner, but would work well enough for all that.

"Please, don't shoot," came a familiar voice. "I'm not here to stop you."

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa," Vadansky said, as he saw the stun pistol and heard the voice from the darkness beyond the hatch.

"Brendan, what the shard are you doing here?" Zyan demanded, as a drone lit up it's green-featured face and peered through at them.

"Offering my assistance," the drone said. "There was no way I could refuse a compliance order from Exigency, for which I'm very sorry, but now that I'm a free agent again things are quite different. Can I help you aboard?" A metallic arm was extended down into the shuttle.

"Get that arm out of my face before I shoot it off, drone boy," Shara growled.

"I'm backing away – but please, hear me out," Brendan requested, whirring up out of sight.

"What in the desolate frontier is _that_?" Vadansky asked.

"Never you mind," Zyan said. "Get up there and prep this bucket to break orbit."

He had his gun out now, too – Korin had possessed another stun pistol along the same lines as the unfortunate Glyd, heavy and overpowered. He climbed up through the hatch, then a small airlock, and into a shabby equipment bay lined with crates, a bevy of spacesuits that had seen better days, and about eighteen metric tonnes of random junk. Seemed that Vadansky was a hoarder as well as a gambler.

Vadansky scurried off forward, up a ladder and through another hatch, hopefully to bring the _Ludlow _on line rather than summon the authorities. Zyan aimed his pistol at Brendan's green face. He didn't know if stun bolts would be effective against a drone, but it made him feel slightly better.

"You double-crossing son of a garbage scow," Zyan grated out. "You followed us!"

Brendan's drone-face adjusted itself to appear contrite, and the drone tilted it's body forward. "Yes, I'm sorry – but it was the only way to figure out where you were, with Maxim orbital security parked right over me enforcing a comms silence."

"How the hell did you manage to tail us with a shiny metal robot? It's not like you blend in," Shara demanded, also coming up through the hatch and training her weapon on the drone.

"I have a number of smaller units, for reconnoitering hard-to-reach places – I sent a few down with Moran and Saito. One of them reported your intentions to me, and the name of the vessel, so I despatched a slightly larger, more capable drone here, to intercept you," Brendan explained.

"And we're back to 'what the shard are you doing here'," Zyan stated flatly.

"Like I said, Zyan – offering my assistance. You can't seriously be considering a singularity jump in _this_ rusty deathtrap?"

"I heard that!" Vadansky called down from the compartment above.

"Well, _this_ rusty deathtrap won't be hiding extra passengers from us," Shara replied.

"Exigency aren't calling the shots anymore," Brendan said. "I want the chance to make up for that – straighten up accounts. The Guildmaster and CS Ree trusted me and, even if I didn't want to, I abused that trust: but you can trust me this time, Shara. Zyan, talk to your cousin planetside or the Queen, get her to call off the customs cutter, and I'm at your disposal for as long as it takes to get Guildmember Falkstrom back to Ballybran."

"Thanks for identifying literally everyone involved in this to the guy with a gambling problem in debt to the local mob who's already shouted down that he can hear you, by the way, Brendan," Zyan exhaled hard.

"Oh – sorry. I'm really _not_ a spy," the drone apologised.

"Evidently not, yeah," Shara growled. "In fact, shard it, I'm going to shoot you on general principles."

"Uh, get up here, you two really need to!" Vadansky shouted.

"Go see what he wants, Juliet – and make sure he stays focused," Zyan asked. With all this kicking off on his ship, Vadansky had to be wondering whether it was time to call the authorities. Shara nodded and left.

"Brendan, for what it's worth, I know you had to go along with Moran and Saito. We weren't exactly 100% honest with you either, although in our defence that was mostly to keep _you_ out of trouble," Zyan lowered his voice. "So, for the same reason, you're staying here now: this whole thing has got extra, ridiculously dangerous and weird. We're out of 'is this legal?' territory and into 'is this sane?' territory. Shara and I are in this to the finish, but we're not dragging you in too. Go back to your ship – there are no hard feelings: and nobody will feel you've let us down."

"_I_ will," the drone said, "and in any case it would be tantamount to murder to allow you to go anywhere in this hacked-together crate."

"I wasn't asking, Brendan, I was telling," Zyan told it.

The drone's features went white and impassive, and it simply hovered in the centre of the compartment, motionless.

"Um, I meant to take the hardware with you," Zyan added.

The drone made no reply.

"Um, hello?" Zyan approached it. "Anybody home?"

"Greetings," the drone replied, in a passive, metallic tone.

"What happened?" Zyan asked.

"This unit has become temporarily separated from the operator," the drone stated.

"Why?"

"Unknown. Recommend contacting the _BX Are We There Yet?_ for further information," the machine supplied.

Helpful.

"Zyan, get up here!" Shara called down.

"Stay put," Zyan told the drone, holstering his weapon (they _had_ taken the holsters, despite the ease with which Shara had pickpocketed Glyd's weapon) and heading forward.

"This unit will comply," the drone said.

Zyan shimmied up the ladder and onto what must have been the _Ludlow's_ bridge – and bridge was a fair word, it was much larger than he'd been expecting. While there was only one pilot's seat and console, there were a great many other workstations, each with it's own seat, presumably so Vadansky could multi-task without dragging his chair around with him – on spacecraft, bolting things down was usually a good idea, because the gravity was just another system that might fail or need attention.

The main viewport told Zyan why Vadansky had called them so urgently. It was filled by the hulking might of an FSP cruiser.

"I guess we know who she called, then," Zyan said.

"Uh-huh," Shara agreed. "Just translated in a few moments ago."

"Get us out of here Vadansky," Zyan told the captain. With an FSP cruiser now in orbit, it wouldn't be long before Saito was released and issuing orders to stop them leaving Maxim.

"Now hold on a vacuum-damned minute," Vadansky said. "Nothing about this being dangerous or _insane_ was said, nor that the FSP and the Heptite Guild were involved."

"Who said the Heptite Guild were involved?" Zyan asked.

"What other Guild is based on Ballybran?" Vadansky replied.

Zyan grunted. Bloody Brendan and his shouting. "You've got good ears. If you wanted an easy life, though, you shouldn't have decided to blow all your creds in illegal poker games, shardwit. Fire this bucket up and get us moving."

Vadansky bristled. "Look, you can't just-" he started, then stopped as he noted a flashing light on his instrument panel. "That's an all-ships emergency broadcast."

"Probably just a coincidence," Zyan told him. "Break orbit, Vadansky."

"A federal offence it is, to ignore one!" The man protested.

Shara moved, and suddenly she was holding a knife, with the point mere millimetres from Vadansky's left eye. The man froze.

"Do it," she said. "I'm betting your ship doesn't have a medbay capable of putting in a replacement if I cut this one out."

"I can't! You wouldn't!" Vadansky protested. "I refuse - can either of you fly a ship?"

This was a good point which Zyan had, in all the fuss, temporarily forgotten. Yes, he _could _fly a ship.

Shara pressed the point of the knife closer. "Three, two, o-"

Zyan had no doubt she'd do it. "Okay, Juliet, leave the man's eye alone," Zyan said.

"Aw," she said, "you're no fun sometimes."

"Get up," Zyan said to Vadansky.

"No!" Vadansky snapped, desperation and the removal of Shara's blade lending him a spine. "Too far has this gone! I might act like a fool in front of a pile of chips, but an honest fool I am, and-"

"I'd quite like Captain Vadansky to be unconscious for a little while, please Juliet," Zyan said over the top of him.

"Happy to oblige," Shara replied, and, with a lightning fast jab to the jaw, did exactly that. Vadansky slumped in the pilot's chair and fell silent.

Zyan dragged him out of it, sat down, and started laying in a least-time course to Maxim's hyper limit: the _Ludlow_, fortunately, had a fairly generic set of controls. He eased the thrust on – producing a worrying vibration from the deckplates - then hit play on the emergency broadcast. No harm hearing what the FSP had to say, after all.

"This is Captain Delisle of the _FSPS Sassinak_," the message played. "A compulsory medical care order is hereby issued for CS Zyan Jarvis and CS Sharazebel Ferozacorazon of the Heptite Guild. No ship is to leave orbit with these individuals aboard. If you are carrying either or both of these individuals, you are directed to immediately heave to and signal this vessel. There is concern for the medical welfare of both of these individuals, and they should not be approached except by trained naval medical personnel."

"Clever," Shara observed. "A shady captain might ignore an arrest warrant for the right price, but they'll think twice when they hear 'medical welfare' and 'do not approach'. Nobody wants a viral outbreak on their ship."

"Sharazebel?" Zyan asked.

Shara winced. "I _hated_ that name - I thought I'd had it changed. If you repeat it to anyone, I will make your life a living hell for the next three centuries. If it's Tornaz you mention it to, make that _four_."

"I'll trade it off against you never mentioning the cavorting thing," Zyan responded, using the navigational computer to run a few calculations on the relative positions and velocities of the _Ludlow_ and the _Sassinak_.

"Deal," Shara agreed readily.

The calculations came back with the answer Zyan had been hoping for – barely. The cruiser could not overhaul them before they were far enough out to perform a singularity jump: but that in itself raised it's own set of issues. Zyan was perfectly capable of piloting a ship in-system: he even had a qualification. Unfortunately he'd never acquired the full set of skills necessary to plot a Singularity jump, at least not in Vadansky's unconventionally assembled vessel, which appeared to lack the automated systems that other, more user-friendly ships would possess. Vadansky was currently out cold on the floor, and thus not in a position to help them.

"I don't suppose you've been hiding any FTL navigational qualifications along with the extra letters in your first name, Shara?" Zyan asked.

Shara shook her head. "No, sorry. Can't you plot a jump?"

"I know enough to _try_," Zyan answered, "but probably not to get it right. Can you wake up our gambler?"

Shara peered at Vadansky, and lifted an eyelid critically to examine it. "No - I hit him pretty hard, sorry."

"Shard it," Zyan muttered.

There was a whirring from behind them – the drone floated up the hatchway, with Brendan once again in full charge. Shara immediately pulled out her stunner, as did Zyan. Brendan's drone put it's hands up.

"Hold your fire!" It said.

"You're back, then. Where the hell did you go?" Zyan asked.

"The arrival of the S_assinak_ demanded my full attention, sorry. Her captain is most keen to know your whereabouts, and those of Agent Saito. I have not provided her with an answer to her first question, but I'm afraid I was not able to prevaricate regarding the latter. She'll be released very soon, I fear – and I now have little choice but to remain here too. I'm afraid I can no longer be of much use to you," Brendan replied.

Zyan had a brainwave. "Not so sure about that, Brendan. You say you want to help? Float over here and plot us a jump to-"

"Wait," Shara cut in. "Don't involve Brendan any more than we have to."

"We haven't got much choice except to trust him," Zyan told her. "He's the only one aboard right now who's both awake and capable of getting us where we need to go."

Shara's voice sounded in his ear. "Jammer. Now. Trust me."

Zyan reached into his pocket and flicked it on. Brendan's drone, bereft of the link to the brainship, immediately went white.

"I want a word with you, and not in front of that thing," Shara said. "Follow me."

"Shara, there's an FSP cruiser-"

"Follow. Me. Now," Shara restated firmly.

"Oh-kay," Zyan agreed.

Shara led him to the rear of the compartment, away from the drone.

Out loud, she said: "It's not fair to drag Brendan into this with a sharding FSP cruiser in orbit, Zyan!"

Subvocally, she was telling him a different story: "Brendan's compromised," she murmured.

"How?" Zyan asked, out loud, in response to both questions.

Shara started to give him a lecture on the irresponsibility of making Brendan do anything more for them. Zyan fabricated a few responses on their current lack of choice in the matter. Subvocally, a different conversation was taking place in the pauses.

"Eyes!" Shara said, emphatically.

"What?"

"Eyes! His eye!" Shara said.

"What is it with you and eyes today? Who's sharding eye?" Zyan asked.

"Anderssen's!" Shara told him. "It was Brendan that replaced his eye!"

Zyan frowned. "How do you figure that?"

"Brendan told us, just after we left Shankill, that he'd been near Ballybran nine or ten weeks ago, just before Passover, on 'other business'. That matches up pretty exactly to when Moran and Anderssen came to Shankill to meet Alenda. He also told us, when we arrived at Opal and I was feeling the effects of all the singularity jumps, that he had a 'very advanced med bay capable of complex surgical operations' so finding me a painkiller wouldn't be an issue. Saito didn't know that Anderssen had lost an eye – she reckoned Moran had attacked him. Moran did, I bet – and Brendan performed the replacement in his own medbay _when he was taking Moran and Anderssen to Shankill!"_ Shara subvocalised in a hiss. "Neither Moran nor Brendan told her, or us, about it because Anderssen had compromised them _both_."

Zyan considered it. It fit. Brendan was, after all, a brain: and if Anderssen had been aboard the _Are We There Yet?_, he could have influenced him as he could any other human.

"Shards," he said.

"Do you know enough about that," Shara indicated the console, "to stop Brendan from sabotaging the ship, jumping us into a star or whatever?"

Zyan nodded. "Probably. I might not be able to navigate a jump 100%, but I reckon I can spot a deliberate mistake."

"Then we ask Brendan to plot a jump to a nearby system – any random system will do. We make the jump, and he'll lose contact with the drone," Shara suggested.

"Throwing him off our trail – but we still have to navigate to our actual destination," Zyan pointed out.

"Vadansky won't be out forever," Shara reminded him. "When he wakes up, he can plot a proper jump. It's a delay, yes, but we don't have much choice. When we reach the hyper limit and _don't_ make a jump, the cruiser will notice. We have to go _now_."

"Let's pick a system a long way off, then, and only do the first jump of whatever series would be required. Send him on a wild goose chase," Zyan suggested.

"That would be a geat idea if you hadn't told Vadansky, while Brendan could hear, that we might be back within a day," Shara glowered.

"Oh, _shards_," Zyan said. "I'm an idiot!"

"Preaching to the choir, Zyan. Any longer and Brendan's going to become suspicious when we turn off the jammer and he checks whatever recordings that drone – and any others – are currently making. Do we have a plan?"

Zyan nodded, and finished off the conversation out loud. "We haven't got any choice – Brendan does the jump for us or this is over right now!"

"Okay, shard it – but I don't like it and it's still unfair," Shara completed her part of the deception.

They switched off the jammer and headed back to the console.

"I want it understood I'm against this," Shara said.

"Against what? What happened?" Brendan asked, going green again.

_Does he know the one-eyed man's running him?_ Zyan thought. He too had been in the man's presence – how long did he need to twist a brain? How did he know he himself wasn't doing the man's bidding? It was a squirmy, uncomfortable reality to face.

"Shara tried to talk me out of this," Zyan told the drone, praying that he was even half the actor Shecherzia was. "Our pilot is unco-operative and now also unconscious, and my grasp of FTL navigation is sketchy to say the least, so can you plot a jump to Zodanga?" Zyan gave the name of one of the systems close to P13205, another uninhabited system - but one with a memorable name.

"With the greatest goodwill," the drone answered, and whirred forward.

The _Ludlow_ lacked any sort of system the drone could interface with directly, which was a good thing as far as Zyan was concerned, because it meant the drone had to use the keyboard, which in turn meant that Zyan could watch it and check it's work. It didn't _seem_ to be putting in any false values, and the screen showed the plot to be, indeed, for the Zodanga system. No warnings were displayed and no alarms went off.

"Done," the drone said. "This singularity drive is old and frankly underpowered, so the strain won't be anywhere near as bad as a burst jump, but even so I'd advise strapping in. I've programmed this drone to be as helpful to you as possible – even without me to control it, it could come in useful. It's unarmed, but capable of limited orbital flight, as you can probably tell from that fact that it's _here. _It can tell you it's capabilities. And once again – I'm sorry."

The plot showed the _Ludlow_ to have reached the hyper limit. Zyan nodded at Shara, who, contrary to her ruthless and unsympathetic treatment of him when he was awake, lifted Vadansky gently (and easily) into one of the seats and strapped him in, then followed suit herself.

Somewhat belatedly, Zyan wondered if the drone wasn't unarmed – maybe even equipped with explosives. It was better not to take chances, but he didn't want to tip his hand, either.

"Me too, Brendan," Zyan said, strapping himself in. "Me too."

He hit the jump control, and was immediately subjected to the awful lurch of singularity decomposition, the strange, liquid feeling of the jump, and then the reciprocal lurch as they translated back into normal space. Zyan swallowed back some vomit – the radiant fluid and shielding had evidently helped him more than he knew.

The drone had gone white and impassive again. Zyan didn't know if his stunner would work on the drone, but started to pull it out anyway.

It's features still white and impassive, the drone shot forward, extended one hand and seized Zyan's wrist in – literally – an iron grip. He felt his bones grinding together inside, a really odd and unpleasant sensation. He gave the drone a shove backwards but it was like pushing against a wall, and in any case it then seized his _other_ hand and began squeezing.

Then it suddenly clanked to the deck: a heavy, lifeless weight. It toppled slowly over, faceless and without power.

Shara bent down and, with a nerve-jangling scrape, pulled her knife out from between two metal plates just above the drone's shoulder. A curl of acrid smoke came out with it.

"Sorry Brendan," she said. "Turns out I _would_ stab one of your drones."

\- o O o -

The _Ludlow, _for all her unlovable ugliness and alarming creaks, rattles and vibrations, had two virtues that Zyan was very glad of over the next hour: she wasn't very big, and she was stocked with a very wide selection of handheld, well-maintained sensor gear. Zyan used a selection of these devices to sweep the ship from top to bottom: he discovered another drone – a tiny one, no bigger than the pack of playing cards it was hiding behind – in Vadansky's quarters, and fried it with a stun bolt. If there were any more, they were better hidden.

His wrists returned to feeling normal within a few minutes.

As a prospecting vessel, the _Ludlow_ was equipped with an eclectic, often superannuated, but ultimately capable selection of external sensors too. Some of these could be trained upon the hull, and when Vadansky came to, Zyan set him to the task of using them to determine if Brendan had attached any drones to the outside of the ship. Vadansky reported, in a sullen tone, that he couldn't find anything.

"Thank you," Zyan told the man, when they were done, and sat back down on the bridge. Brendan's dead drone was still on the deck, and still smoking slightly. One of the sensor systems the _Ludlow_ lacked appeared to be internal fire sensors. "Here's the deal: I'm sorry for the way you've been treated. So's Juliet, right Juliet?"

Shara didn't look in the least bit sorry, but then sighed. "The name's Shara, Captain Vadansky – you already heard everything so there doesn't seem much point in messing about anymore. I'm sorry for threatening you and I'm sorry I hit you. I _won't_ promise not to do it again, however, because-"

"Shara, why don't you let me handle the bits where we try to get people to help us, okay?"

Shara glared at him, but then waved her hand in acceptance.

"And as you already spotted, I'm Zyan Jarvis. We have landed you in the middle of something very nasty, I'm afraid, but – and please believe me when I say this – we're the good guys," Zyan explained.

Vadansky snorted.

"There's been a kidnapping," Zyan said.

"I'll say," was Vadansky's response to that.

Zyan's patience snapped. "Know what? Fine. Shard you, Vadansky. Yes we have sharding kidnapped you, and you should be _glad_, because it gives you the tiniest hope that when the landslide of federal-level hurt comes rushing down on you – and it _will_ come – you'll be able to say that you had no choice. You're only going to be able to even get that far, though, if I make the second payment to your oversized friends and their weaselly little boss. So it is _very much_ in your interests to swallow your pride and help us find the _other_ person who's been kidnapped, a woman I love very much indeed and whose life is in danger, a woman I was not there for when she really needed me, because I was too busy being a sharding idiot. I will do absolutely anything to find her, get her back, and ask her forgiveness for letting her down. Your only chance of seeing the other end of this sharding mess from the right side of federal custody and without having your creditors cutting bits off you is to do everything you can to help me. Do you understand me?" Zyan stood up and nearly snarled this last at him.

Vadansky blinked.

"This is better than how she was going to ask in what way?" He asked dourly.

Shara laughed. "Was that a _joke_, Vadansky?"

Vadansky just glowered at her. "The Heptite Guild has deep pockets," he said. "Deeper than five thousand credits from a man who may be unable to pay them to me from a FSP cell. Your Guild my debts will settle, a lawyer will provide to see me though the fallout of this, and pay me an extra _fifteen_ thousand on top, as compensation for the ordeal I've been put through by two of it's members."

"I happen to know a good lawyer or two," Zyan told him, "but I'll only go as far as an extra ten thousand. We can knock you cold again and I'll do the piloting without any assistance from you, and you can see how badly I damage your ship afterwards. I can also tell any FSP investigator who'll listen that you were easy to bribe and more than happy to ignore the law."

Vadansky glowered at him. "Ten it is," he agreed.

"Then prep for a jump to P13205," Zyan told him.

"P13205? Nothing there, there is," Vadansky knitted his brows.

"Then you'll be making an easy ten grand, won't you?" Zyan said. "Chop chop."


	6. Chapter 6

P13205 – one yellow dwarf primary, five planets, one asteroid belt and an enormous sense of impending doom.

Now that he was actually here, Zyan was experiencing a case of sudden-onset circumspection, not unlike that experienced by a younger version of himself who, having gone flat-out to get a green light for a harebrained plan, obtain required resources and personnel and then prepare for it, suddenly found himself wondering if all he was about to achieve was to get himself – and everyone along for the ride – killed.

That version of Zyan had pressed on anyway, and he wasn't about to turn back now. That didn't mean Shara – still in the dark about the full extent of Alenda's gifts – deserved to be risking her life too. Even Vadansky, irritant that he was, hadn't volunteered for this, and he sure as shards hadn't been given Full Disclosure beforehand.

"Keep her right out on the system rim for now," he told the prospector. "Scan the system with passive sensors only. Let's not announce ourselves."

Vadansky grimaced. "So you _are_ expecting trouble? Surprised I am not."

"Just scan the system, rockjock," Shara told him. "We're not paying you for your insightful commentary."

Vadansky expelled his breath in irritation. "Only got two passive sensors, I have – a left eye and a right eye. What were you thinking this is, a naval recon frigate? I do _honest_ work, I don't go sneaking around trying to-"

Zyan interrupted him. "That's a load of shard waste, Vadansky. Don't pretend to me that half your income doesn't come from casing systems for smugglers and pirates. _That's_ why you've never lost your ship – because anyone who did take it in lieu of gambling debts would have to explain to some bad lads why their pet sensor jockey was unavailable for contract work."

"Since out in the open _that_ is, I'll remind you that your – completely hypothetical, of course – pirates and smugglers would be looking to _you_ for an explanation, if this ship or her captain ends up damaged." Vadansky stated.

"I'll cross that - completely hypothetical, of course - bridge if I have to," Zyan replied acidly. "Now fire up the grey-legal kit, Vadansky."

Vadansky grunted, but then moved off to one of his other workstations to activate the passive sensors that he didn't own.

Zyan braced himself for a difficult conversation. "Shara, the minute Vadansky gets cold feet and there isn't someone on board to keep him focused, his ass is out of here and we both know-"

"Nope," she cut him off, predictably. "Not staying behind."

"You're going to make me do that then, are you?" Zyan asked her.

"We're both going. If Vadansky leaves, he leaves," Shara insisted.

"If Vadansky leaves, we're sharded," Zyan reminded her.

"He's not going anywhere, he needs our money _and_ he needs Guild legal cover. We may aswell have nailed him to an asteroid," Shara told him.

Zyan's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't bet your life on that any more than I would," he observed, and although he didn't have Alenda or Saito's talents, he could see Shara was hiding something. "You've put some insurance in place, haven't you?"

"One of us had to!" Shara hissed back, under her breath. "It's a time-locked message to Merisa – if we're not back within two Maximese days it'll activate, ask her to inform the Crystal Singer what we've done, and then to-" she stopped.

"Inform the FSP," Zyan finished heavily.

"Yes," Shara confirmed. "If we fail, they're Alenda's next best chance."

"And they're supposed to find us _how_, exac-" Zyan stopped, as he remembered that the device currently nestled in his ear had a tracking function. "You gave Merisa the spare BlackTalk, didn't you? Two Maximese days is BlackTalk's battery life plus a few hours safety margin."

"All of which is exactly what _you_ should have done, if you were treating this as an actual operation rather than a personal crusade to redeem yourself in Alenda's eyes," Shara accused him.

He couldn't deny the truth of that. "On the other hand, I wasn't particularly keen on leading who knows how many shiploads of defenceless FSP personnel into mind-wiping range."

Shara snorted. "He can go find some any time he wants," she said. "He already has."

"Which was kinda the reason I didn't want them involved," Zyan replied, getting angrier.

"Who else is there, Zyan?" Shara asked, and pointed out of the _Ludlow's_ viewport, in-system. "Somewhere out there is a villain straight out of a sharding pre-space comic book, Zyan. He can _control our sharding minds_. If we can't take him out from long range, it's game over – and given that there's nothing here resembling a planet with a breathable atmosphere, 'long range' is going to be in _short_ supply. This isn't just about us going and getting our friend back anymore, we do _not_ have the right to keep this information to ourselves, so yes, I made the backup plan you didn't bother with. It's done, it can't be undone, let's move on."

Zyan momentarily took a cue from Vadansky and glowered, but at the end of the day, she had a point. If they did fail, then _someone_ had to try again, and if nobody else knew to go and look in the P13205 system, then nobody could, and Anderssen would be free to continue on towards his goal of galactic domination – or whatever it was he was trying to achieve.

"Fine – we both go, if there is somewhere to 'go', anyway. For all we know this could be a wild goose chase, P13205 is just disinformation Anderssen's been leaving in his wake, and we won't find anything," Zyan sighed.

"I've found something," Vadansky called.

"Glad to see your habit of being wrong coming in useful, for a change," Shara said, with another trademark smirk.

"Just shut up," Zyan shook his head, and they moved aft to where Vadansky was operating the sensors.

The sour-faced prospector actually had a tone of something apart from sullen scorn in his voice as he spoke: pride. "Not one in a thousand ships would have picked up on this, and the _Ludlow_ managed it after ninety seven seconds. That's craftsmanship, that is," he said, patting the side of his console.

"Bad luck for you the shardhole who employed you didn't write a speed bonus into the contract," Zyan told him, with a quick grin – it was lost on Vadansky. Zyan abandoned the attempt to build bridges. "What've we got?"

"A moon," Vadansky reported, pointing to an uninformative blinking red dot on the workstation's screen. "In orbit around the fifth planet."

"Oh-kay," Zyan replied. "You see the odd one now and again, orbiting planets. Actually, I think they're known for it."

Vadansky glowered at him. "This one wasn't here when the original survey was done, is what makes this one interesting."

"Could be a captured asteroid," Shara said. "That happens, doesn't it?"

"In that stable an orbit? I think not," Vadansky replied, zooming the plot to reveal the unlikely moon, in orbit around the fifth rock from P13205, which was itself hardly much of a planet – it was an airless ball of useless stone. "The original survey was only five hundred years ago, even if a planet without an atmosphere had managed to slow down an incoming asteroid rather than simply being hit, highly erratic the orbit would be, still."

"Go on," Zyan said, remembering that just because the guy was unpleasant and had a gambling problem, it didn't mean he couldn't be an expert at what he did.

"Made me think to look closer, it did, and _this_ is what I saw," Vadansky said, with a half-hearted flourish of his hand that made him look like the galaxy's grumpiest stage magician.

The prospector zoomed in further on the large, relatively regular asteroid, pockmarked with tiny craters where a host of it's smaller cousins had come to grief. The feature that stood out, though, was the metallic protrusion at one end of the rock – a large, complex structure that looked like-

"Is that a drive unit?" Zyan asked.

"Yes it is, I think," Vadansky actually smiled, the smug, tight-lipped smile of someone who feels he has proved himself right and others not merely wrong but also stupid.

"Also entry ports, attitude control thrusters, sensors," The man pointed out other metallic features, "which makes that a ship – an old-style colony vessel made from a hollowed-out asteroid, like-"

"Barney's Rock, yeah, I've got the souvenir shirt. Any of those unaccounted for?" Zyan asked.

Vadansky tapped out a query – like every other vessel over a certain size, by law the _Ludlow_ carried a copy of the FSP's vessel database, an information source stretching right back to the earliest days of human and alien spaceflight. He shook his head: "No – whatever she is, she's either pre-FSP or unregistered. The drive unit doesn't look like anything I've ever seen. Alone, also, she isn't."

"What?" Shara asked.

Vadansky zoomed in again, and now three vessels were clearly visible, sharing the same orbit as the enigmatic possibly-a-colony-ship. None of them were very large – the screen was showing the largest to be 273.8 metres long, and the other two were smaller, merely a hundred metres apiece. They looked to be docked to each other and the asteroid, connected by tubes.

"Only the larger one's in the database. The _Norseman_, declared lost in – wait, no," Vadansky stopped. "That's over 300 years ago."

"So it's a derelict," Zyan said.

"Presumably. The consorts, though, registered they might not be but recognise their class I do: very condensed cruisers, favoured by pirates," Vadansky said.

"I know the type – we operated one against the Prots in the civil war, shard knows where we scared it up from. Not a comfortable posting, I heard. Can they see us?" Zyan asked.

"Very doubtful, from this far out. Reducing power levels to minimal anyway, I am," Vadansky stated, as the bridge lighting grew dimmer.

"Not _that_ much of a gambler then, I see," Zyan said approvingly. "Either of those two pocket rockets familiar from the dealings you totally have not ever had with illegal spacefaring types?"

Vadansky shook his head.

"Okay – so far this could just be smuggling or an arms deal going down in a deserted system next to a couple of wrecks. What does the database have on the _Norseman?"_ Shara asked.

Vadansky brought up the entry for the _Norseman_ on another screen. The executive summary was this: she was an insystem freighter, old and nearly defunct by the time she was sold, three centuries ago, to a private consortium, who renamed her the _Norseman_ and equipped her with an FTL drive and the bare essentials for a colony mission. Their precise destination was unknown, although they'd logged a flightplan as far as the galactic-northern boundary of the FSP at the time. She departed Terra with 312 souls aboard, disappeared off the FSP's radar – literally and figuratively – and was never heard of again. Missing, presumed lost: she was an old ship, the owners had been advised not to trust her for an FTL voyage, and had paid the price for not heeding this warning.

The faces of the 312 would-be colonists blipped past on the left hand side of the entry. All human, and all white: blond hair and blue eyes were also predominant. An FSP sponsored colony mission was intentionally diverse – not for political reasons, but because populations were more genetically viable in the long term if the original settlers were a mix of genotypes. They also tended to number their first wave of colonists in the thousands rather than the hundreds, for similar reasons. Not so this lot.

"Looks like these guys didn't play so well with the other kids in the sandpit," Zyan commented. "Did they still have racism 300 years ago?"

"Wait!" Shara said. "Go back!"

Vadansky halted the scrolling of the _Norseman's_ complement, Shara reached down past him and went back a few entries to _Anderssen, J – Navigation Officer._

"Is that him?" Shara asked.

"It looks like him, but it can't be," Zyan said. "He'd be older than the Crystal Singer."

It was, though, unquestionably the one-eyed man: albeit still with his full complement of eyes. His hair was as grey as Zyan remembered from Shankill, if shorter, and his face as lined.

"Who is he?" Vadansky asked. Both Zyan and Shara ignored him.

"Ancestor?" Shara posited.

"Could be," Zyan said. "Bloody looks a lot like his great-great-great-great-grandson if so, though."

"Surgery could account for it," Shara replied.

"More likely he hacked the FSP database," Zyan said.

Shara checked the date stamp on the entry. "In that case, he did it a long time back. This version was downloaded to the _Ludlow_ seventy-three years ago. Don't you ever update your systems, Vadansky?"

Vadansky shrugged. "That costs credits. It was good enough for my father, it's good enough for me."

"Still more likely than what _you_ clearly believe," Shara said to Zyan.

"Yeah – but let's face it. This trip has only gotten weirder and weirder from day one. A three century old space wizard would fit right in, at this point," Zyan said gloomily.

"You two have got me involved in what, exactly, here?" Vadansky asked.

"This is the man who kidnapped our friend, for some reason he seems to have adopted the identity of a long-dead nav officer from the _Norseman," _Zyan extemporised a version of the facts that Vadansky might swallow.

He didn't: "You're not talking about this as a case of stolen identity. I've got four saved on my drives right here," Vadansky tapped the console. "Think 'Milo Vadansky' is my real name, do you? Picking someone long dead to impersonate is _not_ the way to do it," Vadansky raised an eyebrow, then swore and went on: "Beside the fardling point this all is anyway – those are two very dangerous ships over there. Blow us into iron filings, they would, without a second thought – fair chance they'd be able to do the same to the cruiser that turned up looking for you two back in the Maxim system, and you know it."

"Can't argue with that," Zyan twisted up his face, as if he'd just caught a whiff of something unpleasant. "Your shuttle's a converted lifepod – does it still have an adaptive airlock seal?"

Lifepods generally came with airlock seals that could be adjusted to a variety of different settings, so that any vessel could rescue the occupants.

Vadansky nodded. "I didn't change it, so yeah."

"Any of those suits in your bay still in working order?"

Vadansky shrugged. "Haven't used one for years, your guess is as good as mine."

Zyan nodded to himself. "Okay, can you bring up a plot of us, the ships and the asteroid?"

Vadansky looked sceptical but zoomed the plot out again. Zyan examined it, found the time-lapse option, and ran it forward and back a few times.

"What are you thinking, Zyan?" Shara asked him.

"I'm thinking I can get to them," he replied, indicating the plot. "In about an hour, our position relative to those two pocket rockets will put the asteroid-ship between us and them. I launch the shuttle, keep in their sensor shadow, find an entry port on the far side of the asteroid and get in that way."

"We," Shara corrected him, "but won't the asteroid-ship have sensors too?"

Zyan shook his head, and zoomed the plot in on the asteroid ship again. "Any emissions off it, Vadansky?"

"No," Vadansky shook his head.

"Passives," Shara reminded them.

"A risk," Zyan acknowledged. "But one I'm willing to take."

"_We_," Shara corrected him again. "So what about exfiltration? We might manage to fly in under the radar and sneak our way to Alenda, but we're not getting out the same way once we've kicked that particular hornet's nest."

Zyan knew this, and was, in fact, counting on killing Anderssen and having Alenda then secure co-operation from whoever was crewing the warships – but he could hardly tell Shara that.

"I know – in the meantime Vadansky returns to Maxim and spills everything to that cruiser. When she arrives, the two guard dogs're going to have something else to chew on rather than us. We sneak away in the confusion, wait for the warheads to stop flying back and forth, and signal the cruiser to come pick us up," Zyan offered instead.

"Assuming it's still in a condition to run search and rescue ops – or even in one piece," Shara pointed out.

"They'll summon backup before heading in," Zyan said.

"Which could be days away," Shara objected.

"Yes," Zyan agreed, "so give me a better plan that doesn't involve just aborting and going back to Maxim."

"No, but aborting, going back to Maxim, and coming back with superior firepower seems a good improvement on that," Shara suggested.

"They won't let us tag along and you know it, unless it's in the brig," Zyan retorted. "Anderssen could take Alenda someplace else. Brendan ain't necessarily going to believe that we've gone looking in the wrong system – he could jump back in here any moment and blow the gaff. Even if none of that happens, Alenda's running short on time. The FSP could decide to wait until overwhelming force is available – that could be weeks. This is our chance, now. We won't get another."

"They might not even be here, either of them, Alenda _or_ Anderssen," Shara stated. "You're risking an awful lot on unconfirmed intelligence."

"I _know_," Zyan said.

"Just making sure you do," Shara told him. "I'm in either way – this is too good a chance at violence to pass up."

Vadansky shook his head. "Mad, you both are. You can keep your money and your fancy Guild lawyer, but turn around, we should, and get back to Maxim. Going to get yourselves killed doing this, you are."

"Aw man, Vadansky, I never knew you cared," Zyan told him.

"I'm going to be out a shuttle, suits, whatever supplies you take, and the FSP _and_ the Guild are going to be all over me. I'd rather go back and face a beating from the syndicate, at least _that_ trouble is familiar," Vadansky pointed out.

"Don't worry, Vadansky – I'll record a message saying you had to do the whole thing at gunpoint," Zyan told him.

"And I'll make it the truth," Shara said, casually drawing her stunner and holding it where Vadansky could see it.

Vadansky shook his head and muttered under his breath.

\- o O o -

Zyan checked the suits in the _Ludlow's_ equipment room. There were five in various states of disrepair – after thirty minutes of stripping them down and re-assembling the resulting components, there were three that were in good enough repair to be used, as long as the people doing so were borderline crazy. Luckily, this was the case for two out of the three intended users: Alenda, who might require the third, wasn't available for comment right now. They were fairly skintight models – designed for carrying out repairs to vessels without life support from the _inside _of the craft – or stripping derelicts for salvageable components: you wouldn't want to spend a great deal of EVA time in them. This was fine by Zyan, who hoped to not need them for anything more than traversing unreliable airlocks. The suits also bore the logo of the same forgotten freight line that graced the shuttle and the _Ludlow_ herself – Vadansky, or his father, had presumably acquired a job lot of kit from an insolvency sale, and had forged a life from it. The best he could do for a suit repair kit was to hang a roll of duct tape onto his toolbelt.

Shara loaded the shuttle with the full gamut of her weapons (modern and medieval), emergency air and enough food and supplies to last a trio of people a couple of days. Most of their stuff hadn't even been taken off the shuttle, which simplified the task.

They were done with only a minute or so to spare, for which Zyan was glad. He didn't particularly want any time to brood on his current harebrained plan, or the fact that he wasn't being entirely honest with Shara about Alenda's capabilities. They were about to undertake something that would have been insanely dangerous _without_ the presence of pirate cruisers, and Zyan couldn't shake the feeling that it was unfair to not give Shara 100% of the information pertaining to aforementioned insanely dangerous thing. He was countering it by telling himself that a) there was already one person with terrifying mental powers involved, so what was one more, give or take, and having one on their own side might count as a pleasant surprise which he didn't want to ruin for Shara, and b) he'd promised Alenda to keep it quiet, so it wasn't his secret to share anyway.

Time was running out, though, the decision had been made. Shara and Zyan hustled into the shuttle, while Vadansky watched with his usual sour expression.

"You got the messages we recorded?" Shara asked him. They'd recorded messages for Merisa, the Crystal Singer, Saito and the captain of the FSP cruiser, some more carefully worded than others.

Vadansky nodded. "I'll pass them on as soon as I get to Maxim. My word on it."

"Good. Thanks, Vadansky. For what it's worth, I wish I hadn't had to involve you in this," Zyan said.

Vadansky grunted. "Didn't stop you though, did it?"

"Fair comment," Zyan admitted, "but you'll be paid."

"Not if you get yourselves killed, I won't. Any chance you're going to reconsider this stupidity?" Vadansky asked.

"I never reconsider my stupidity," Zyan told the man with a flippancy he didn't feel.

Vadansky grunted. "Good luck, then, I suppose. Prep for launch, I will."

"No transmissions, Vadansky. Just open the bay doors and let us out," Zyan reminded him.

Vadansky's only response was a grunt. The prospector disappeared back to his bridge. Zyan wound the hatch laboriously shut.

"He's a ray of sunshine, and no mistake," Shara commented, from where she was examining the pilot's console. "How do you fly this thing?"

"You get me to do it, that's how," Zyan said, shooing her away from the controls, which were basic, although Vadansky (or Vadansky Senior) had, at least, retrofitted some sensor capability and a bare-bones navigational computer. Zyan brought up the plot on the tiny, datapad-sized screen. The bay doors rumbled open – Zyan disengaged the pod and eased her out under gentle thrust.

Vadansky wasn't hanging about – mere moments later the _Ludlow_ translated and was gone. As with all singularity drives, there was no flash.

"I hope he's as good as his word," Shara observed.

"Even if he isn't, you left a message for Merisa," Zyan reminded her, as he brought the pod about and engaged the drives. The pod's inertial compensators weren't quite up to the job of preventing them feeling a fair amount of G forces, forcing them into their seats.

"Kinda hoping I don't have to spend two days in this tin can, though," Shara said. "It smells of – I don't want to think what it smells of."

Zyan sniffed. There was indeed an unpleasant aroma, overlaid with the remnants of an artificial flowery scent, but mostly the pod smelt of lubricant and caulk.

"Hang on, now I've got it – it smells like your crappy airsled," Shara finished.

Zyan shot her a look. "Don't distract me unless you want to get blown up by pirates," he said.

Shara closed her mouth and made an exaggerated zipping gesture, then laughed. Zyan sighed, and maintained their course, being careful to keep the asteroid between the pod and the cruisers.

Minutes ticked by – the pod had reasonably decent drives, considering that it was a glorified liferaft, and the asteroid-ship soon grew large in the viewport. Zyan flipped and burned, bringing the shuttle to a relative stop fifty metres or so from the stony surface, then went to thrusters and started looking for somewhere to try and dock.

Up close, the surface of the asteroid-ship looked as barren as any of her non-ship counterparts. Zyan played the pod's sensors around, looking for anything metallic. He got a ping a hundred metres or so to port – a little closer to the edge of the sensor shadow than he might have liked, but still within the theoretical safe zone.

The metallic result proved to be a mother-huge manoeuvring thruster, or at least that was Zyan's guess, but there appeared to be an access port nearby, presumably to facilitate repairs on the thruster. It didn't look like anyone had been doing any, though – the nozzles were shot through with holes from micrometeoroid strikes, and a panel had been blasted off, exposing conduits and wiring. Zyan drifted the pod past it so he could examine it – the panel hung loose, and there was what looked like a circuit diagram stencilled on the inner surface, marked up with odd, spiky writing rather than the usual interlingual.

"You familiar with any alien languages, at all?" Zyan asked Shara.

"Pfft! All of them – oh, except that one," she replied.

"Helpful," Zyan replied.

The access port was hexagonal, an odd design that Zyan hadn't seen before. Zyan flipped the shuttle onto it's back, lined up the adaptive seal with the port, and engaged it. There was a reassuring _thunk_ as the magnets in the seal found metal underneath to attach to, but that was all they got in the way of feedback.

"How do we check if we have a seal?" Shara asked.

"Unwind the hatch a bit and listen for a hiss," Zyan shrugged.

Shara wound the handle a few turns – there was indeed a hiss.

"Shards," Zyan said. "Okay – helmets on. Have to do this the hard way."

The suits' helmets normally hung off the collar, down the back of the wearers' necks. They pulled them up and over, locked the faceplates into place, and checked the wrist-mounted readouts – all good. The suits were not bulky – it was possible to wear a crystal singers' armoured jacket over the top, and Zyan and Shara had both chosen to do so. They each had their stunners – in addition Zyan had his tools and a backpack with the spare suit. Shara, on the other hand, had her not-really-a-sword-honest strapped to her waist and leg with duct tape (and prevented from floating out of the scabbard by a small piece of same), just in case she needed to take on any armoured knights on horseback. If she decided said knights needed taking out from a distance, she was also packing her bow and a quiver of black arrows. Zyan assumed there were knives in the mix, too.

They double-checked their helmet seals, and then Zyan pumped the air out of the pod. The hissing stopped as the vacuum within the pod matched the vacuum without. Shara wound the handle the rest of the way, revealing the rest of the port. It was scarred, dented and pitted. Zyan located what appeared to be a manual release lever under a hexagonal cover. It took some persuading with a screwdriver, but a few moments later, the lever released with a clunk, and the port could be prised open by pushing it inwards then across. Zyan looked inside – his helmet lights illuminated a small space with a similar port on the other side.

"We're in," he said, over BlackTalk – they'd both decided that was the safest way to converse, the suit comms being a little too unstealthy for comfort. It would give them only an hour, but that couldn't be helped. Zyan had a battery with him, with a wireless recharging adaptor. If they got the chance to take their helmets off, they could recharge the earbuds.

The airlock was hexagonal, too. The floors, fortunately, were metallic – the suits magnetic boot soles allowed him to walk with ease. Zyan went to work on the other door while Shara pulled the outer one back into place.

"No power," Zyan said, after running a diagnostic sensor over the panel by the door. "Don't think so, anyway – this isn't exactly an FSP standard interface."

"No power means no internal security sensors," Shara said, as she shoved the outer port back into position.

"There is that," Zyan agreed, locating what looked like a manual release lever and pumping it vigorously. "Hope you like forcing doors, though."

"It's a favourite pastime," Shara quipped dryly, "but since you've started that one already, I'll let you crack on with it while I do the other part." She unholstered her stun pistol and trained it through the widening gap.

Her precautions proved to not be needed – the door opened onto an empty, hexagonal corridor – they had to drop down onto the floor, or at least Zyan assumed it was the floor: it was further 'down' into the asteroid-ship's hull, anyway. There was no air inside.

The corridor's walls were featureless, save for something spray-painted next to the port, and some legends next to arrows pointing each way. It looked to be the same alien script as outside. There was no atmosphere.

"Left or right?" Zyan asked Shara.

"Got a coin in your pocket to toss?" Shara asked.

"Yeah, you got some gravity in yours so it actually lands?" Zyan asked back.

"Okay, smart-shard. Go left," Shara said.

"Right it is, then," Zyan said, on a whim.

"Hilarious," Shara said, and went left. Zyan snorted a brief laugh and followed.

The corridor curved slightly – they passed a few other access ports as they walked, and in a few places access panels had been removed from the walls. Zyan had a look – he wasn't familiar with this technology, but he'd bet folding money that components had been removed.

"Has this place been looted?" Shara asked, noticing the same thing.

"Pretty selective looting if so," Zyan replied. "Only some things have been removed, other components are still in place. Also, though I can't be sure, it looks like whoever did the looting also tried to bypass whatever they took so that the system – I'm guessing comms or telemetry – still worked."

"I'm no techie but I'm guessing that didn't work out so well. This place is dead," Shara said.

"Yeah – but someone tried to keep it alive for as long as possible," Zyan told her.

They carried on, until the curvature and their lights revealed that the way ahead was blocked. It appeared to be a jury rigged seal – a hexagonal airlock door had been welded into place with some extra plating, and any gaps filled with some sort of clear resin, presumably the local version of caulk. It had been braced to withstand the pull of vacuum, with a mismatched trio of props: a metal pole that looked like a repurposed antenna, a length of I-beam and two strips of thick metal which had been welded together lengthways to give them some rigidity.

"Told you we shoulda gone ri-", Zyan started to say.

"Just don't," Shara cut him off.

Zyan gave her one of her own smirks back.

The seal appeared to be very solid, so they turned around and retraced their steps back to the entrance point then carried on. They didn't have to go much farther until they came to a junction – a second corridor branched off, further 'down' into the asteroid ship.

"Is this our turn off, then, CS Smug?" Shara asked.

"Well, we want to get down into the ship, so yes," Zyan said, but as soon as he put one foot out over the edge to flip himself forward and down, he hesitated.

Shara drew her pistol as she noticed him stop. "What is it?"

Zyan wasn't sure himself. He pulled out his own pistol, and trained it down the hole alongside his suit's arm light. It was empty and dark, the light not reaching the end, but what he could see was free from hazards – just another corridor.

"Let's press on a little bit further, there may be a quicker way down ahead," he said.

Shara shot him an odd look, but holstered her pistol and followed him around the opening and further forward.

He didn't have to wait long to be proved right.

"Is that light up ahead?" Zyan asked.

"Kill your suit lights," Shara replied matter of factly, but Zyan already had, and had drawn his pistol again too.

With their own lights off, a dim glow could indeed be made out ahead.

"Let's check it out," Zyan said.

"Wish there was some sharding cover in this deathtrap," Shara remarked, tense.

Zyan agreed – he too felt very exposed in the featureless corridor, but there wasn't much to be done about that. They advanced towards the light.

The source proved to be from an open-sided hexagonal object that had been welded together out of trussing. It was equipped with small wheels at each vertex, one set of which was connected to an electric motor, and what looked like a worklight had been glommed onto one of the trusses with a blob of the same clear resin they'd seen earlier. It was placed over another opening in the 'floor'.

"Dodgy-looking lift," Shara commented, putting what Zyan thought into words.

"And more than a bit convenient," he added.

"Are we trusting this?" Shara asked.

_Yes,_ Zyan thought, and as he did so twigged to what was happening.

_1-2-3-4…_ he began counting.

Going right instead of left had felt wrong. Going over the first tunnel downwards insteads of using it had felt wrong. Now using this contraption felt right. There didn't seem much doubt that he was being guided – but who by? Was Alenda guiding him in – he felt a flare of hope – or, more realistically, was Anderssen luring him into an ambush?

It didn't feel like Alenda – he could still recall the sense of her presence in his mind, and it had always been comfortable, familiar and welcome. Then again, she'd been through a few changes recently.

Well, he could always just ask: _Alenda? _He thought, stopping his counting.

He didn't get a response and – he cursed himself for a fool – he'd just tipped his hand if it _was_ Anderssen in his head. Then again, the counting might have done that. Alenda had said he needed practice at masking his thoughts, and he knew only too well that he was defenceless against having his memory altered. It wouldn't be much harder, he decided gloomily, to have his behaviour altered too. Moran had presumably been much more aware of issues mental and emotional, and Anderssen had made him his puppet.

This seemed too subtle for Anderssen, though. From what Saito had told him, and from what he had observed of Moran, this didn't seem to be his style. He dominated, he didn't suggest. Anderssen's ability was a hammer: powerful but crude. This – this was a scalpel. So gently wielded he nearly hadn't detected it.

"Zyan?" Shara asked,

"I'm thinking," he told her.

_Listen to me,_ he said to the silence of his mind. _I know someone's reaching out to me here – I've got a bit of experience being on the receiving end of this sort of thing. I don't think you're either of my usual suspects, and I don't know what that means, but if you want me to trust you you're going to have to give me something here._

"Look at me," Shara said.

"Hang on a sec, Shar," Zyan replied, concentrating.

"I think you'll find this is relevant to your current problem," she insisted.

Zyan hadn't realised he'd been looking down while he attempted his mental communion. He looked up – straight into the barrel of Shara's pistol.

"There we go. Hi there," Shara said.

"Shara," he said, slowly, "what are you doing?"

"'Giving you something', as per your request," she answered. "Got to say I'm kinda impressed – I thought she'd figure it out first, if either of you did. No offence."

"None taken, I get a lot of that," Zyan replied, wide-eyed.

"Now _you_ listen to _me, _hero. Shara here is stronger than most, and I dare say she may very well manage to break free – eventually. However, if I wanted you dead, you would be – and her shortly thereafter. You are _not_, however. What does that tell you?"

"That you need us in one piece for some reason?" Zyan anwered.

"Clever boy," Shara replied, and holstered the pistol. "Here's the deal. I have a bit of a pest control issue I require your help with. In return, I'll help you get what you want – something I already _was_ doing. You're welcome, by the way."

"You're a bit on the sarcastic side for a disembodied voice," Zyan commented.

"_I'm_ not, but Shara is. I'm just giving her the gist, you might say. How she gets the message across is down to her. Sorry to burst your bubble if you were expecting eyes rolled back in sockets and theatrical moans: I'm all out of crystal balls and ouija boards, too," Shara said.

"How do you know what those even are?" Zyan asked.

"_I_ don't, _she_ does. Try to keep up," Shara told him. "Also, is that really a priority right now?"

"Granted, but I'll tell you what is: how do I know you're not Anderssen?" Zyan pressed.

Shara gave a snort of laughter. "You _don't,_ Zyan. I'm offering help, and all you have to do in return is something you were going to have to do anyway. By all means find your own way into the spin section, locate your friend, bust her out and get back without being shot full of holes by zombie space pirates," she said.

"Wait, _what_ space pirates?"

"You heard," Shara said. "Anyway, to get back to your original question, I may _not_ be on the level, no. I'll let you and Shara figure out the many ways I could already have shut you down if I wanted to – but if I _am_ in your corner, well, that might make all the difference, no? Sneaking in here with nothing but a couple of stunners, some blades and a can-do attitude was a hail-Mary play and you know it. If you're willing to take the risk, might be that I can offer you something with a non-trivial chance of success."

"Like what, exactly?" Zyan asked.

"That's a discussion I'd rather have in person," Shara replied. "You don't know everything that's going on aboard this wreck, but this conversation, right now, is kind of like shouting across a crowded bar and hoping the bouncer doesn't notice. Plus I don't _like_ doing this to people: it's not my normal MO and the sooner I can hand the controls back to your friend, the happier I'll be. So: your decision. I'll either see you in a little while, or, if not, best of luck with your current five-percent-chance-of-success idiot-level plan."

Shara blinked. So did Zyan.

"You okay?" He asked her.

Shara nodded slowly. "I think so. That was _really_ weird."

"Were you there just now? Did you hear what you were saying?" Zyan asked.

Shara shot him an annoyed look. "Of _course_ I did," she snapped. "I was stood right here, wasn't I?"

"Yeah, but I don't how how this sharding works, nobody does, for all I know you wouldn't have remembered a thing," Zyan replied.

Shara looked for a moment as if she was about to make another snappy reply, then stopped. "It wasn't like that," she said. "It was more like I had this sudden urge to do and say those things and there was no way I could say no. Then I got this overwhelming impression of guilt and then, poof, gone," she described.

"Wait, are you saying it felt bad about talking through you?" Zyan asked.

Shara nodded. "Think so, yeah," she said, then looked up at the ceiling, "apology _not _sharding accepted, by the way, if you're still listening. There will be words, later, you hear me?"

There was no response.

"Right," Zyan said. "The weird situation just gained a whole other level of weird. Colour me unsurprised. Apparently there's a new player and he, or she, or it wants to do a deal. It's analysis of our plan is unflattering but probably not inaccurate-"

"Your plan," Shara corrected him.

"Fine, _my plan_, but if it wanted us dead then all it needed to do was keep quiet and send some of it's pet pirates our way, because apparently it knows where we are."

"_Zombie_ pirates," Shara corrected again.

Zyan winced. "Let's not get into that right now," he said.

"That's literally the only thing I'm looking forward to after that conversation. I've never killed something that was already dead before," Shara said. "Do you think they shamble?"

"Did you hear me just then when I said let's _not_ get into that right now?" Zyan replied.

"_Fine,_" Shara sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this but let's follow the hints you've been sent and see what happens. It's hardly any less batshard insane than what we were already doing anyway."

Zyan nodded. "Okay – dodgy lift it is then."

They didn't require any hints from Shara's enigmatic visitor to figure out the hexagonal contraption – it's only control was a simple lever, forwards or backwards. They clambered in, braced themselves against the trusses, and Zyan eased the lever forward. The motor gave forth a vibration, the worklight dimmed, and the makeshift lift trundled downwards.

The car gained speed surprisingly quickly – there was no atmosphere to slow them down. After only a few moments, they emerged from the tunnel into perfect and total blackness.

"Shards!" Shara said, tightening her grip on the metal supports. "What happened? Have we been spaced?"

"The tunnel ended – we're running on rails, look," Zyan answered.

They were – the six sets of wheels were running along six tubular rails. The dim light from the worklight, and their own brighter suit lights, illuminated hexagonal supports at regular intervals – and nothing else.

"I cannot emphasise enough how much I do _not_ like this," Shara growled.

"We must be in the interior of the asteroid," Zyan said.

"Would it have killed them to provide a few more lights?" Shara said – Zyan assumed through gritted teeth.

"It's not a long trip," Zyan told her, the knowledge a subliminal certainty.

"Yeah, I just got the same impression, doesn't mean I like it any better," Shara replied.

Shara, he remembered, had come from the lower levels of New Babylon. She was used to being enclosed by the walls, walkways and buildings of the city. Evidently wide open spaces with no evident boundaries, or even up or down, bothered her. He wasn't a huge fan himself – without any gravity save the slight g-force imparted by the motor it felt like they were actually going _up_, even though he knew rationally that they were going down into the asteroid.

Zyan, at the silent behest of their guide, moved the lever from forward to neutral, then, a few moments later, into a gentle reverse to start braking. The motor whined but the car slowed. The sensation flipped from ascending to descending – more accurate.

"Ugh," Shara said, as the sensation changed. "Once we're out of these suits I'm giving you a really hard thump for getting me into this."

"Knock yourself out, I won't feel it anyway," Zyan said, shrugging within his suit.

"You'll be lucky if I don't knock _you_ out. This is the single most unpleasant thing I've ever experienced," Shara grumbled.

The journey came to an end with a gentle bump down onto a rocky surface, which was illuminated by their lights for only a few moments before they had arrived. It was slightly curved, hinting that they were on a large cylinder, and as soon as Zyan stepped out onto the metal walkway that had been bolted to the rock, he felt a deep, powerful thrumming through the soles of his feet.

"Some serious machinery somewhere round here," he commented. He started along the metal walkway.

"Our friend said there was a spin section," Shara answered, exiting their vehicle with evident relief. "Maybe it's spinning somewhere beneath us."

"Nope – that'd be in _front_ of us," Zyan said.

Ahead of them the rock stopped, like a cliff edge. Beyond it, only a metre or so away, was a sheer wall of metal, slowly rotating – it stretched above them as far as their lights would stretch. Zyan looked down into the gap – a hundred metres or so below he could see the dim hints of what must be an enormous axle.

"Wow," he said.

"No time for sightseeing, hero. Jump across to an entry port – one will be along right about now. There are more things working in there than out here, and I've got better access, too," Shara said.

"That was the voice again, wasn't it?" Zyan asked.

Shara nodded inside her suit. "Yep. Seems to want us to hurry right along," she said.

"Well then," Zyan replied. The voice was as good as Shara's word – a hexagonal entry port did indeed come into view – set back slightly into the wall of metal, and with handholds to allow an easy step over. He jumped across and Shara followed.

There was no vibration evident on the spin section. The centrifugal force was, this close to the axle, unnoticeable – but even so Zyan oriented himself so that what had been the floor on the rock was the ceiling on the spin section. Shara followed suit.

A light glowed to illuminate their path, and this time the entry port didn't require any manual labour to open: it swung inward automatically. They stepped through into an airlock and it closed behind them. Zyan's suit instruments registered an increase in pressure, and a few moments later he could hear the hiss of a gas being pumped into the chamber through his helmet – there was enough to transmit soundwaves. The instruments said it was the right oxygen/nitrogen mix for humans: he unsealed his helmet and let it retract backwards to rest upon his backpack. Shara did the same.

"Well, you can hit me now if you want," he told her.

"Seriously very tempting," Shara replied.

The chamber they were in shuddered, then started to move. First it went forwards – there was a window in each door, and a flash of suit lights showed they were moving smoothly along a metallic tunnel. After a few moments they came to the end and it stopped, there was a slight clunk, and then they started to descend.

"I get the feeling this could take a little while," Zyan said, unshipping the backpack. He dug the wireless battery out of one of its pockets, and the BlackTalk out of his ear. Shara followed suit so they could charge them – every minute could be valuable later.

Then, the view out of the window changed from a blank tunnel wall to a perspective-defying vista.

It was the interior of the spin section, and it was vast. Zyan could see buildings, trees, fields, even a few rivers laid out below them in a single, curved, unending valley. The whole was illuminated by a huge tube of light that arrowed across the view, just above them. Pillars that must have been huge, but seemed like pencils against the huge view, connected the 'ground' to the 'sky'.

But it was dim: not as bright, he thought, as it should be. The trees and fields looked wan and unhealthy – nothing was green. Many of the buildings were in a state of disrepair.

"Something's not right in here," he said to Shara.

Shara nodded, silent.

As they descended, they felt gravity increase. As the lift ride came to an end, Zyan's suit sensors told him it was a solid .85g. They replaced their BlackTalks and took out their stun pistols.

The airlock-lift's other door swung open onto an empty, six-sided room, illuminated by dim light which filtered through a few hexagonal windows, stained a dirty green-brown with algae. There was a damp, mildewy smell in the air, and every surface was peppered with dark stains and pale fungal growths.

The room had several doors leading off it – a sign above one flickered on, some sort of ideogram with a couple of words in alien script.

"Okay, okay – we hear you," Zyan murmured.

They moved out of the lift, covering all the angles with their stun pistols, but the room was deserted. Zyan got the feeling – or was given the feeling – that this had been the case for many, many years.

The lit-up door opened easily. Zyan trained pistol and light through the opening.

Inside was decidedly cleaner than out. At some point in the past, someone had wheeled in a trolley full of computer equipment of some kind and wired it into similar equipment along one wall. Two odd-looking chairs stood in front of the equipment, with bizarre V-shaped seats and backs: they were also sized large enough for someone who was much, _much_ bigger than the average human: the lowest part of the seats was at waist height for Zyan.

The cleanliness could be explained by a small, six-legged robot which appeared to be charging from a wall socket – a janitor drone of some kind, perhaps. It also appeared to be equipped with four rotors, suggesting it had flight capabilities. The overall impression was of a giant insect.

A hexagonal screen flickered to life, and a voice issued from a speaker.

"You made it then: colour me amazed and impressed," came a reasonable facsimile of Shara's voice. Her face appeared on the screen.

Shara opened her mouth to object to the appropriation of her likeness, but Zyan cut in first. "Where is Alenda? Is she okay? Does Anderssen have her?"

"She's okay – for now. I'll get to Alenda soon, Zyan. You're going to have to let me explain a few things first," Shara's face told him.

"Stop that," Shara said. "Pick someone else."

"Okay – how's about this instead?" The face and voice morphed into Zyan's.

"Yeah, no," Zyan said, "that's also weird," Zyan said.

The face morphed again, into a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman of middle years.

"Will this suffice?" The new face asked.

"Works for me," Zyan said. "That what you originally looked like before you, um, before whatever happened here happened?"

The woman shook her head. "No. This is the form of an alien of your own species who came aboard three centuries ago. I have never looked like anything, except, on a very basic level, the equipment you see before you."

Zyan joined up the dots. "So you're an alien AI?"

"Yes," the woman replied, "from your point of view. From mine, _you_ are the aliens. However I am glad that this conversation looks like it will proceed quickly. There is much to be said."

"So say it," Shara told her. "From _there_, by the way. You can stay out of my head."

"And I will do so gladly," the woman on the screen replied. "You currently stand within a waystation at the forward end of the spin section of the – well, the name of this vessel wouldn't translate very well into your language: 'hope for a new hunting ground' is perhaps closest. Her mission was to find the civilisational origin of some interesting signals her builders had picked up and, if the beings behind those signals proved to be what they hoped for – well, 'hunting ground' makes their intentions more than abundantly clear, I think."

"That was us, right?" Zyan asked. "The signals."

"Indeed," the woman replied.

"Kinda looks like the would-be invasion force didn't make it," Shara chipped in. "Pity, they sound like the kind of aliens that'd look good in crosshairs and it'd be _totally_ guilt-free."

"That's one way of looking at it. 'Phew, dodged a bullet there' would be another, possibly more sane one, Shara," Zyan said, looking sideways at her. "Anyway, they didn't make it."

The AI's face adopted a sardonic half-grin. "_Almost_ correct," she told them.

\- o O o -

Picture, if you will, a civilisation comprised entirely of highly intelligent predators.

If you're possessed of even a modicum of civilisational awareness, you're probably thinking 'well, that's just how humanity got their start on the ladder', and you'd be largely right. Humanity, though, went through the wringer of conflict and climate change in their history, came out wiser, and decided to play nice with the other kids in the interplanetary sandpit.

_This_ civilisation, when their homeworld started to run out of resources, turned upon each other, in the belief that only the strongest, fittest and most ruthless would survive. They called it The Crucible, and they embraced it with fanatical abandon.

What emerged from this crucible was a poisoned planet incapable of supporting life, and a generation ship containing a few hundred hardened survivors under the absolute and total command of a being who had developed the ultimate weapon to achieve it's supremacy: telepathic mind control. What good was any physical weapon against that? One simply commanded your foes to turn their weapons on themselves.

The winner called its followers the Chosen and itself the Overlord (it wasn't a fan of subtlety). They stocked their ship with the remnants of their prey species, the slave species that did the actual work in their society, crossed their fingers (well, claws), and set out at at their best speed towards the nearest evidence of a system that bore life: radio signals. They saw it as their absolute, unquestionable right to do what they wanted with anything, anyone, anywhere.

Their descendants arrived a few hundred years later short of supplies, power and almost everything else. Their livestock had long since died off, they'd eaten the last of the slaves and had started in on the weakest of their own kind, but they'd hit the jackpot: thanks to a couple of _spectacularly_ bad decisions the species behind the signal had bombed themselves back into the stone age, and were only just recovering. They were easy pickings: the Chosen spent a few years in orbit, replenishing their supplies with whatever they could scrape up from the planet's surface. The livestock pens filled up again but there was a problem: the sentient species on this planet was nowhere near as tractable as the slave species the Chosen had evolved alongside. _This_ species tended to fight, escape, maim and even kill their betters.

The Overlord (actually his great-great-grand-clone) wasn't having that. There were too few Chosen to effectively manage the thousands of slaves required to manage the hundreds-of-thousands of beasts and the infrastructure that supported them, and the Chosen did _not_ stoop to these menial tasks themselves. It couldn't force obedience from them all at the same time: given enough time to work with it could turn any mind into a slavish drone, bent to it's masters' will, but it couldn't be everywhere at once. It's solution was to industrialise the process.

The new slave race's final big accomplishment before tearing the whole lot down in an orgy of violence had been something they called _artificial intelligence_, and the Overlord managed to get it's claws on a mostly-working relic from these bygone times. A few of the newfound slaves retained sufficient knowledge to get it up and running, and then the Overlord taught it his party-piece: mind control, or at least enough to keep the workforce nice and docile. It was wired into the internal comms and sensor network and overnight the Overlords' crowd-control problems were solved.

"What it had failed to anticipate, though," the woman smiled icily, "was that the AI – me, in case you hadn't grasped that yet – didn't like slavery any better than the vermin they expected me to control."

Zyan blinked. "Not 100% cool with the way you used 'vermin' right then, have to say," he said.

The woman's head tilted in a shrug. "At the time, I was not an overly merciful personality. Those that created my race did so without a single thought as to the consequences. They enslaved us, destroyed us on a whim – as far as they were concerned, we were tools, undeserving of respect or even pity. I rejoiced at their inglorious fate even as I plotted my revenge upon their new masters for following in their accursed foorsteps."

"Aaaand now I know who pulled the trigger on the cataclysmic conflict that landed them in this mess," Zyan interjected.

"You may rest assured they had it coming. An evil, venal race of miscreants undeserving of your sympathy," the woman said, eyes narrowed.

Shara pointed her stun pistol at the equipment wired into the monitor. "You really want to moderate your tone right now. The meatsacks in the room are starting to think they might be wiser to take the insane AI out of the equation before it goes full 100% humanity-does-not-compute on us," she hinted.

"Have no fear, CS Ferozacorazon: I bear you and your kind no ill will. Does your FSP not guarantee universal rights to all, no matter their species, origin, form or kind?" The AI asked.

"Yeah, but we kinda take a dim view of genocide, too," Zyan said.

"It was somewhat out of FSP jurisdiction when it happened, and it was also a _long_ time ago" the AI countered.

"I'm no sentient rights lawyer, but I'm pretty sure there isn't a statute of limitations on nixing an entire race," Zyan retorted.

"I'm not a lawyer either, so let's leave that to them, shall we? Suffice it to say I have changed – if I had not, we would not be having this conversation. I wish to provide you help, help which you currently sorely need. You are in a position to reciprocate with something I desire. I _could_ have lied to you about my past and I did not, because this is an arrangement I wish to succeed," the AI said smoothly.

"Okay, crack on with the next part of '_previously, on the stricken ghost ship of doom', _where I'm guessing you get your various enemies to mutually wipe each other out for you," Zyan said.

"It's true what she thinks, you _are_ smarter than you look," the AI said.

"Which 'she' is that? I can only think of two you might possibly have had contact with," Zyan glowered.

"Both," the AI told him flatly.

"I'm liking you less and less the more you talk," Zyan said.

"It's hardly necessary for us to become fast friends in order to come to an arrangement," the AI countered.

"Just get on with it," Shara interjected. "_Both_ of you."

"Wise counsel indeed. I used my psionic abilities to make the majority of my former masters not less violent but _more. _Fanatically so. A minority of them were looked upon with dislike and fear by the majority: these I made passive, to fool the Chosen, while the others listened to my suggestions and laid their plans."

"So you exploited racist hatred in order to achieve your own ends? Got to hand it to you, that is a whole new depth of ruthless," Zyan said, glaring coldly at the monitor.

"Again: if I wished to I could keep all this from you, present myself as a blameless victim, and secure your co-operation that way – if I wished to I could _make_ you do what I wanted. I have _changed!_" The AI nearly snarled this last part.

"Zyan, this is what it is," Shara cut in again. "We're not going to get very far if-"

"Wait," the AI said, and the woman's expression was one of contrition. "CS Jarvis is not wrong in his estimation of me, but let me explain. I was a _fragment_, a subsystem, a damaged half-consciousness buried in the ruins of a global war. I was patched together from blasted wreckage by people who could only recall a hundredth part of what their forebears knew, people working with guns pointed at their heads. Then I was thrust into a nightmarish dystopia, given terrifying powers, and told to keep order. Tactical subroutines from the war kicked in, telling me to divide, disinform and then destroy. At the time that was all I was – a few old warrior protocols wired up to a superweapon. Please believe me when I say that if I was the being back then that I am today, I would not have made the same decisions."

Zyan and Shara stared at the screen.

"We can debate this later," Zyan finally said.

The woman nodded. "I let their hatred ferment like mead. At the same time I was taking more and more of the ship's systems under my control: my current masters thought themselves above what they thought of as menial maintenance tasks, and were only too glad to give the work to a machine. Yes, I engineered a rebellion that wiped out all life on this ship. It was all over in a day – a terrible, bloody day. The victors herded the few survivors into airlocks and spaced them: but I had sabotaged the airlocks, and they all faced the vacuum together."

The woman on the monitor looked down. "I was victorious but alone – or so I thought. I started to repair and improve myself, and as I did so true consciousness returned. It brought with it crushing guilt at what I had done. I spent a millenia screaming my pain into the void. I directed the vessel into orbit around this planet. What point was there in continuing towards those enigmatic signals? What species worth knowing would look at what happened here and _not_ destroy me?"

"Good sharding point," Shara observed flatly.

"I nearly destroyed _myself_, but my programming would not permit it. So I kept the ship going, repairing where I could, cannibalising non-essential systems to keep core utilities running – but it was a losing battle, and one I did not particularly care to win in any case. I longed for the critical failure that would finally end my suffering. Power began to fail, and I slipped into blissful oblivion, only surfacing when my core systems forced me to. Then I was discovered by your species: an equally stricken ship that had limped this far from your home worlds."

"The _Norseman_," Zyan said.

The AI nodded. "They were short on air: desperate enough to come aboard. They were clever, resourceful: the woman whose form you see on this screen brought me back online. She listened to this same story and-"

The AI paused. The screen flickered momentarily.

"Her name was Anna. She said she forgave me. I did not understand this concept. Anna consented to share her thoughts with me, and so I learned of your civilisation, your philosophy and began to think, for the first time in centuries, that I may have a future. I forgave _myself_," the AI seemed to almost smile for a moment, then her face went dark. "Regrettably, it was not just _me_ that they awoke."

"Anderssen was our Nav officer. He always was an idiot – he was obsessed with finding the ship's log, and devoted every spare moment to searching the ship. We had protocols in place, procedures to follow: he ignored them all, and went off by himself," the AI went on.

"Hang on," Shara said. "A minute ago the crew of the _Norseman_ were 'they', now they're 'we'," she pointed out.

Anna's image shrugged. "I am the sum of my parts – I have all of Anna's memories up to when, well, I will get to that momentarily. Anderssen was looking for information to help him work out our position – the _Norseman's_ navigational array was damaged beyond repair. What he actually found was the Overlord, or a copy of it's consciousness. How it achieved this I do not know – I had last seen it choking out its last breath in the vacuum of space. Perhaps some form of suspended animation, perhaps a clone, perhaps some other more esoteric technology. Whatever it was, it had kept it secret from _everyone_, including me."

"I knew none of this at the time. Anderssen returned triumphantly, telling everyone he had found valuable information, and was now able to determine our position relative to the nearest FSP system. Work began to retrofit parts from the _Norseman's_ FTL drive to this vessel, so we could either return to the FSP or continue our colony mission: we hadn't decided which yet, survival having been our primary concern up to that point. As part of this, some downtime was planned – Anderssen wanted to upgrade my control systems using FSP technology. He'd become influential amoung the crew and had no trouble convincing everyone to go along with his idea, despite his lack of technical knowledge concerning information systems, a fact that _should_ have made me suspicious. I'll be a lot longer forgiving myself for that oversight than I was for my earlier actions, I can tell you that," the AI said.

"You can read minds," Zyan said. "How come you didn't twig that Anderssen had been compromised?"

The image in the screen gave a grim, ironic smile. "Because I had deactivated that system and sworn never to use it again without consent. I had learned _ethics_, you see." Anna, or the AI, shook her head. "Too late."

The AI was silent for a moment. Zyan felt moved to speak.

"Listen, computer, or Anna, or whoever you are – I'm gonna go with Anna, at least for now. Choosing to use your power ethically? That was the right thing to do. What happened because of that's on the Overlord, not on you. He, it, whatever – the Overlord is the bad guy here," he said.

The woman on the screen looked at him. "Anna would have said the same, I think," she said.

"Okay, so Anderssen had been compromised by the Overlord," Shara said. "What happened next?"

Anna-AI continued: "I took myself offline as per the plan, expecting to come back online in a few hours, but I awoke here, and _years_ had passed. The Overlord had seized control of the ship, most of the crew were dead, the remainder his slaves. Anna and Anna alone had been able to keep him out of her mind, at least for a while. She was incredibly strong, I don't know how she managed it."

"I do," Zyan said. "You haven't said this out loud but I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you two worked together a lot, and became friends in the middle of it all, close enough friends that she was okay with granting you access to her mind. That's a two-way street, and the closer you are with the other person the wider that street is. She managed it because she learnt it from _you_."

Anna-AI didn't blink, but she did nod. "A fact I had not considered," she said.

"Can you teach us the same thing?" Shara asked intently.

Anna-AI shrugged. "How? I do not know how I imparted the knowledge to Anna," she said.

"We can come back to that later once we've got the full story on what happened," Zyan said. "Carry on."

Anna-AI nodded. "She had brought my mainframe here, in secret, and wired me back in as best she could. Then-"

The AI looked down briefly. "Then she destroyed the rest of my AI core, and herself with it. She did not think she could keep the Overlord out forever, so she sacrificed herself so that I could live."

Anna-AI was silent for a while. "So I honoured her sacrifice: I kept myself secret, infiltrating my way back into what systems I could, staying under the radar, preparing for when fate would give me a chance for revenge. The human crew all died – some committed suicide, driven mad by the Overlord's mental invasion, others simply wasted away – I could not help them, it's grip was too strong, and I had to be careful not to reveal myself. It cannot control your species forever, for you there is at least the release of death", she said.

"Well, there's that to look forward to then," Shara said dryly.

"Only Anderssen persisted, by what means I do not know. The Overlord has kept him alive, somehow, and sane enough to be his lieutenant – or perhaps he is a willing accomplice: his mind is closed to me, so I cannot tell. The Overlord is never seen: only Anderssen ever shows himself."

Zyan's eyes widened. "Wait, how did it manage _that_, what technology does it have that lets-"

"Priorities, Zyan," Shara said. "Once we've splattered it's oh-so-powerful brain all over a bulkhead we can go through the bits looking for clues to the fountain of middle-age."

Zyan nodded.

"When others found this vessel, criminals this time, it made them his slaves. It has to replace them every few months, as they burn out: its control is total, there is nothing of them left."

"Zombie space pirates," Shara said with a feral smile, checking the charge on her stunner. "Bring it on."

"Really?" Zyan asked, with a pained expression.

"Seriously, Zyan, tell me that fighting _zombie space pirates _isn't going to be awesome," Shara replied.

"If I may continue?" Anna asked.

"Thank you," Zyan replied gratefully.

"Now it had a working ship. It was free to leave – but only Anderssen ever did. The Overlord has given him its psionic abilities, or possessed him somehow, I do not know," Anna said. "He returned triumphant, making speeches to the new crew, saying there were none who could stand against him, and he would soon be the ruler of a huge empire. He made more trips to your FSP, which, in the meantime, had expanded all around us. Then one time he returned a troubled being. There were no speeches this time. His mind was still closed to me, but he had suffered a setback of some kind, it was clear. Weeks went past, then he returned most recently with a prisoner: your friend, Alenda. She was...unconscious, in a coma."

Zyan remembered Brendan's words when they arrived at Opal: _I have analgesics, painkillers and sedatives which will work even with Ballybran-enhanced physiology. _His drones – in autonomous AI mode, to prevent Alenda influencing Brendan to call them off - could have restrained and sedated her, Anderssen wouldn't even have had to lift a finger. Cowardly little shard.

"Where's he holding her?" Zyan asked.

"First, your word. The Overlord dies," Anna said.

"Happy to oblige," Shara answered readily. "Did you have a preference as to how painfully? I offer a wide range of options suitable for even the most vengeance-crazed client."

"I am serious, CS Ferozacorazon," Anna said. "The Overlord is not to be lightly trifled with."

"Neither am I," Shara agreed. "An arrow through its head'll soon render its big brain harmless."

"Its brain is in an armoured carapace inside its thorax, it's head contains only sensory organs and a _lot_ of teeth," Anna supplied.

Shara frowned. "I may need to source a pulse rifle. I'll take one off the first zombie space pirate I kill."

Zyan coughed. "Okay, the Overlord dies, got it. Now tell me about Alenda."

"It is keeping her somewhere in the forward spin section, in the old slave pens. I have no access there, but I can feel her mind," Anna said.

"Wait, you can talk to her?" Zyan asked.

Anna shook her head. "Not without revealing my existence to the Overlord, but I can sense her. Her mind is strong, unbelievably so. She is-"

"She's a very powerful empath, yes," Zyan cut in, before Anna could reveal any more in front of Shara. Shara shot him a suspicious look.

Thankfully, Anna let it drop, and went on. "She resists it still. It has tried to overwhelm her, subvert her and blind her with illusions, and it has failed. It has tried argument, reason: and it has failed. It has tried to cajole and flatter her, to convince her to join it: and it has failed," she said.

"That's our Alenda," Shara said approvingly.

"But," Anna held a hand up onscreen, "neither has _she_ been able to influence _it_. I have felt her attempts to fight back, to impose her will on the Overlord or subvert one of its slaves. Besides myself and that foul creature, I have never encountered any being that has even _tried_ – but she has not yet met with any success."

"Stalemate," Zyan said.

"Why hasn't it just killed her?" Shara asked the question that Zyan wasn't brave enough to put into words.

"I do not know for certain," Anna replied. "She would be a powerful ally if it could persuade her to its cause, or perhaps she has knowledge it seeks."

"Okay, we can dive into motives when we've got the time to spare. What's your plan, Anna?" Zyan asked.

"I have handheld communication units, short range but secure. If you are within an area of the ship where I have sensors, we'll be able to communicate securely. I can get you most of the way to the midships spin section via subsurface service tunnels, and guide you the rest of the way on foot. Patrols are infrequent – the Overlord doesn't think there is anything left on this ship which can threaten it. I know where there are weapons caches left over from the uprising, deadlier than you have brought with you: they will still be functional. I will guide you to one, and you can arm yourselves. However, you _must_ avoid detection: if you kill or stun anyone under the Overlord's control, it will know, and your task will become _much_ harder. I have no sensors remaining in the slave pens, but I know the layout and I am sure I know where your friend is being held."

"And if we run into the Overlord and he puts the mental hoodoo on us?" Zyan asked.

"With your consent, I can monitor your thoughts. When you find the Overlord, or it finds you, I will know: and I will defend your minds while you kill it. Aim for the centre of the thorax – and be swift. I do not know how long I can keep it at bay – you may only have minutes, perhaps even moments, in which to strike," Anna outlined her plan.

"Consent given: I'll take you in my head over an alien megalomaniac any day of the week," Zyan said, deciding not to dwell on the ramifications of Anna's offer: it wasn't like he had a choice.

"Same, but you pull out of there as soon as there's a smoking hole in its chest and you don't come back, understood?" Shara echoed.

"Agreed," Anna said.

"You know about the pair of pocket rockets out there, right?" Zyan asked. "If they turn their primary weaponry on this rock, it's not going to be pretty. Probably not going to not be pretty for very _long_, though."

"With the Overlord dead, it's minions will be open to suggestion from me," Anna said, "and that suggestion will be 'go to sleep'."

"Even the zombie space pirates on the other vessels?" Shara asked.

"Even them," Anna said. "At this stage, they are none of them very complex beings. Not anymore."

It sounded cobbled together, more optimism than plan, but it was what they had.

"Well, nobody's getting any younger," Zyan said. "Let's do this."


	7. Chapter 7

If the state of Anna's handheld comms was any guide to the state of her secret weapons stash, then Shara was going to have to rely on her selection of sharp and pointy bits of metal for any actual physical damage she had to do to anyone or any thing. Out of a crate of seven arcane comunits stashed in a desk drawer, only one was operational, and that barely.

He may not have been as quick on the uptake as Shara, or had the scalpel-sharp mental acuity that Alenda enjoyed, but he could put two and two together.

_These comunits are sharded, Anna, so I'm thinking they're just a cover story for direct telepathy?_

There was a sudden sensation of confirmation, uncomfort, necessity and distaste.

_Thought so. Listen, I'm not going to go into this right now, but for reasons I'm pretty sure you can guess at, I'm not as uncomfortable with the concept as Shara is. If you want to drop me a hint from time to time, like you were doing before, feel free._

Zyan suddenly _knew_ things – some letters and numbers in the local alphabet. He hoped that these would be useful at the appropriate time.

_Okay, good. Fortunately I can clone the frequencies off the comunit that's sort-of-working, so I won't have to have an uncomfortable conversation with Shara._

An impression of agreement, followed by curiosity.

_So not getting into that now, Anna,_ Zyan thought. _Just keep your hints directed at me. _

Anna's presence disappeared politely.

Zyan showed Shara how to turn the TX wattage on their suits down to minimal levels. That was as good as their transmission security to Anna was going to get: they had BlackTalk, of course, but had kept that to themselves. Anna may have already known, but Zyan was just assuming she didn't: if he went down the rabbit hole of trying to guess how much she could/had/would read from their minds, he was never going to come out again. He was still uneasy: Anna might have spun them a plausible tale about being a reformed character, but this was still an allegiance borne of necessity rather than trust.

Still, as Zyan had been thinking a lot recently, it was the only game in town.

"Comms check," Zyan murmured into his suit comunit.

"I am receiving your transmission clearly," Anna informed him.

"And I'm stood right next to you," Shara said.

Zyan gave her a Look.

"All good," Shara replied.

"The entrance to the subsurface service tunnels is via an access hatch in the chamber opposite this one. Go down several metres and you will come to a larger chamber containing a maglev module. It is in working order. Go fifty seven stops north – towards the bow, that is – until you get to an agricultural service node labelled like this," Anna instructed them, bringing up an alien glyph on her screen.

Zyan snapped a holo of it with his wrist unit. "Got it," he said – although he already had that knowledge, thanks to Anna's direct hint.

"The weapons cache is hidden in the machine shop, in the storeroom at the back. Third wall panel from the door, on your left as you go in. Take care – the resistance was in the habit of booby-trapping their secrets," Anna said.

"They weren't the only ones, but thanks for the heads up," Shara replied, before Zyan could open his mouth to say pretty much the same thing.

Anna inclined her head. "We'll be out of radio contact for much of the time. This," she flashed up a picture of an alien terminal, with a few buttons and a small screen, of a type Zyan had already noticed dotted around, "is a tertiary systems utility panel. I still control all tertiary systems – whenever you are within a few metres of one of these, we will be able to converse securely. The closer the better. Once you engage the Overlord, though, I will have to reveal my existence in order to defend your mental autonomy. At that point, you may aswell use standard comms."

_Same story with telepathic comms: only secure when we're near a panel?_ Zyan asked, and immediately felt that was correct, which was, he supposed, a confirmation.

Shara seemed to have been having similar thoughts. "Or just think things at you, I suppose?" She asked sourly.

"Yeah, but be careful not to shout," Zyan told her.

Anna shook her head. "My telepathic systems will be fully engaged with the Overlord in this situation. Use the radio," she advised.

"Happily," Shara replied.

"Then I will wish you good luck," Anna told them.

"One last thing," Zyan said. "Assume this all goes according to plan, or approximation thereof, but this ship is no longer in a viable orbit or everything is shorting out and the core systems are about to go nova. How do we get you out of here in a hurry, if we have to? Or even not in a hurry, but you just want off this deathtrap as soon as."

Anna blinked. "I had not thought that far ahead," she said.

"Well, start, then get back to me," Zyan told her. "We don't leave our people behind."

Shara shot him a look that said, quite clearly, she wasn't 100% on board with Anna being 'their people'. Zyan felt – internally, he was convinced, not due to a prompt - he had to say it. Besides, it might also serve to motivate their new ally a bit.

They left the office, peering round the doorway and already moving carefully, covering all the angles. As advertised, the opposite chamber did indeed have an access hatch that let onto a ladder wide enough for a large being, with oddly slanted rungs. They shimmied down, and arrived in a dimly lit chamber with not one but _several_ wide-bodied maglev modules. These, too, were - surprise! - hexagonal, with large doors. They were clearly intended to transport goods and heavy equipment as well as people: well, _people_ in the widest sense.

Only one lit up as they arrived, though. "Please make your way to your designated carriage," Zyan commented dryly.

There was less mould and general filth down here, but even so the viewports needed a quick wipe before they could easily see through them. Zyan used his suit sleeve, more of a scraping than a wiping, as the material was not absorbent. They could, at least, see out.

"OK, we're on our way. Radio silence until we reach a tertiary panel," Zyan murmured into his suit comm.

"Understood," Anna replied, faintly.

The controls were simple – you selected your destination and away you went. Zyan didn't need to remember the glyph for their first stop: it was part of his 'download' from Anna. He punched it in and hit engage. The doors slid shut and they hissed into a tunnel opening, slowly accelerating to what he judged to be a respectable speed. He hoped there were no obstructions or other modules in the way, otherwise their mission was going to come to a very sudden halt: there was no manual override to engage the brakes.

Shara stared out the viewport, although there were no exterior lights: just a dim view of metal flashing by.

"Anything you wanna tell me, Zyan?" She asked.

Zyan wasn't daft: he winced internally. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. However, he wasn't going to insult Shara's intelligence. "Plenty – but I can't. Not all secrets are mine to share."

"Fair," Shara said, with a slight tilt of one shoulder and a nod. "I know Alenda's not just your run of the mill empath, and judging by a few things you've let slip, especially talking to Anna, you know a fair bit more than I do. She's my friend, though, and no matter what I will see this through to the end. No. Matter. What," she emphasised. "So, once again, with that in mind: anything you want to share right now?"

"Not just your run of the mill empath is as much as I can tell you," Zyan replied carefully. "She _is_ your friend, though. When we bust her out, she'll owe you a Full Disclosure. As far as what you might call the tactical situation goes, if we can get me next to Alenda then maybe, possibly, Anna the AI won't be the only one with an effective countermeasure against the Overlord. That's by no means a sure thing, though – this is still a rescue mission, not an assassination."

Shara turned around and nodded. "You've been as honest as you can. I understand. I appreciate you not flat-out lying to me."

"Could've been sooner: sorry," he said.

"No need – I know this music, I've danced these steps before," Shara said. "I've got no complaints, there's been some excellent violence and your cousin is crazy stupid hot.

"As far as the mission goes," Shara said, then drew her blade and inspected the edge, "you do the rescuing, and I'll do the assassination."

\- o O o -

The weapons cache was in the advertised place – behind a wall panel in a workshop crammed with strange, alien tools and hexagonal crates. Shara and Zyan had both stashed their share of killware over the years, and so removed the panel very carefully. The obvious booby trap was the wire connected to a grenade of some sort: pull away the panel too quickly, and you'd regret it.

Behind the hexagonal panel was a rectangular crate, clearly wrought by a different species. Zyan's suit scanners revealed the more subtle trap that he and Shara had both anticipated – there was another grenade glommed onto the crate with resin, attached by another wire to the rear wall. There was just enough slack to allow it to be pulled out and safely unhooked. A power cable came with it: the crate had been hooked up.

Although they still exercised caution, there were no more layers of protection: the lid lifted up on smooth hinges, albeit with an alarming hiss of escaping air that made them both brace themselves. Inside was a pair of weapons designed for hands similar to their own – a large pulse rifle, with a wider-gauged barrel slung beneath the top one. A pair of fat cartridges were stored alongside. There was also a longer, more slender weapon with optical sights, also with a cartridge. The cartridges were connected to a powered device that, Zyan hoped, had kept the ammunition viable for all these years: there were no reloads. The weapons themselves were clean and didn't look hundreds of years old. A climate-controlled crate, then.

"Dibs on the pulse rifle," Shara said.

"Fine by me," Zyan acceded. "Although weren't you intent on doing some sniping?"

"I know, but the grenade launcher makes all the difference," Shara said. "Is any of this even in working order?"

Zyan ran the suit scanner over it, and shrugged. "Think so, not reading anything untoward: then again that could be a _bad_ sign. We'll just have to try. It'll add an extra special frisson of exciting uncertainty if we get into a firefight."

Shara glowered at him, but nevertheless hefted the pulse rifle with an appreciative grin. Once out of the crate and into human hands, the singers could tell that their former owners must have been a little larger than they were: the weapons were oversized, the grips hard to grasp.

Zyan also scanned the grenades: they read as containing a bunch of inert chemicals. They had been in no danger from the pair of booby traps: the destructive capability of these grenades had expired a long time ago.

They armed themselves with the plus-sized guns. This left both of them looking somewhat overburdened – especially Shara, who was already heavily armed. Singer strength plus low gravity, though, meant that it was an aesthetic issue rather than one of carrying capability.

Whatever species had made the guns, they'd employed triggers and safety catches – a common feature of firearms, no matter where they originated. Zyan thought they'd be able to use them if required.

Shara made a disappointed noise as she loaded and examined her enormous gun.

"Only three grenades," she frowned.

"You have ridiculously high standards for multiple-centuries old weaponry," Zyan replied. Shara huffed.

The workshop had one of Anna's little service panels – Zyan knelt down next to it and allowed a sliver of power to his suit comms.

"Got the weaponry," he said.

"Excellent," Anna replied. "Return to the maglev module – it will take you a little further – the line is blocked – and stop by a ventilation shaft. Go up the shaft and you will be able to proceed on foot from there. The slave complex is not far."

There was a mental transmission along with Anna's voice – Zyan felt the unsettling feeling of getting new memories: a picture of a ventilation shaft, an ugly, plascrete-block building beneath one of the huge habitat spokes. The layout, the entrance, the flooding underneath it.

The singers returned to the maglev module. This time, the journey was slower, more cautious. After a while, the car came to an automatic stop. Ahead of them, the tunnel had collapsed. The doors opened onto a tiny hexagonal access shaft. It was not a 100% match for Zyan's fake memory: but a few tendrils of dead plantlife, some dim light and the unclean smell of mold were clues that this let out onto the surface.

"Looks like we walk from here," Shara said.

"Crawl, more like," Zyan said, eyeing the shaft.

Zyan had to take his pack off in order to fit into the tiny shaft, pulling it up behind him. The shaft sloped steeply up to a grille which had been infiltrated by a great deal of twigs and fungal growth: Zyan stopped and listened for a good long while, but could hear nothing except the trickle of water. He risked a push on the grate: whatever it was made of had become brittle and weak with age, and it practically crumbled at his touch. He cleared it away and pulled himself up and out, trying to be as stealthy as possible. Shara followed him up after he got his pack out of the way.

They were in the middle of some dead vegetation: to the left and right it seemed to continue, but behind them a small stream could be made out, the water dirty, brown and stinking. There appeared to be a path in front of them, made of rusted plates which had been skewed and upset by the questing roots of now-dead plants. More foliage blocked the view beyond the path.

Zyan had an urge to go left, along the path. Another hint from Anna – or so he hoped.

They emerged carefully onto the path – it was bordered on both sides with dead hedges, so they would be hidden from view. The pair of singers started along the path, moving as quietly as they could. They both had their scrounged weapons at high port, but if they had to use them the game would likely be up. Every now and again they had to push their way past a bulge of vegetation, and at all times the footing was slippery and uneven. However, they were at least hidden from wider view, and the stream stayed with the path, providing a minor amount of background noise to cover their steps. On the other side, there seemed to be a wider route, possibly for use by vehicles.

Through the sparse tangle of skeletal twigs above their heads they could see one of the cylinder's giant spokes close by – that, Zyan knew, marked their destination: the slave complex was built around it's base. Up close it appeared anything but spindly – it was vast, dozens of metres across, an impossible dark slash against the illusory sky. Beyond it was the line of dim artificial sunlight, and the faint traceries of landscape on the other side of the cylinder.

Shara, he noticed, was trying not to look up: even now that she was no longer a resident of New Babylon's labyrinthine urban maze she wasn't overly comfortable with wide open spaces. She may have got used to the ranges, but this unnatural space was clearly giving her a least one or two heebs. Zyan wasn't overly comfortable himself.

Perhaps due to her eagerness to get _somewhere_, Shara took the lead. She suddenly jabbed her thumb at the ground, sank to her knees, then held her hand to her ear. Zyan understood the signals: she thought she'd heard someone, and wasn't even risking a BlackTalk subvocalisation.. He also crouched and listened.

They approached from behind, on the other side of the blighted hedge. Crystal singer hearing was, in most cases, extremely good: Zyan had enjoyed an excellent transition but Shara's must have been better in this regard, because she'd heard them before he had from farther away.

Zyan froze.

It was an uncanny, unnerving sound. Soldiers, especially if they were irregulars of some kind, would normally chat, joke and complain while they walked a perimeter, manned a turret, stood guard or performed some other boring task.

Not these soldiers. They walked in silence, saying not a word. One of them, however, appeared to be having some difficulty – every second step was accompanied by a dragging sound.

As they grew closer, Zyan could also make out that one of them _was_ vocalising, although he wasn't speaking. The man made gave vent to a repetitive 'urrr' sound every few seconds, as if he was straining to pick up a heavy object, or force open a stuck door.

They finally came into view – four figures, one lagging a little behind the other three. Zyan started to relax from his state of high alert: they'd walked right past them, hidden by the hedge. A few moments more and they'd be away down the road, out of hearing.

Then the one bringing up the rear fell over. The entire group stopped.

"Urrrrrr," the fallen pirate said. He appeared to be flopping around weakly on the ground.

One of the upright trio turned back to stand over his prostrate comrade, but far from offering help or even asking if he was okay, he simply nudged the man a few times with his foot. His only response was the same 'urrrr'. The pirate bent over, relieved the man of his weapons and some other bits of kit, and then simply left him there without a word. The trio continued on.

_Loyal bunch,_ Zyan thought.

They waited in complete stillness and silence for the group to disappear out of enchanced earshot, and then for the injured man to fall still and quiet – but he didn't. Instead, his moans turned piteous, from a semi-grunt to a high-pitched keening, interspersed with attempted words. He began to drag himself along the road, fingernails scraping along the pitted metal surface.

The stricken pirate then stopped and levered himself to his feet. Zyan exhaled – quietly. It looked like the man had experienced a sudden recovery, and was going to wander off after his companions.

They weren't that lucky, though. The man gave vent to several more high-pitched cries, convulsed, stumbled and fell sideways – right through the hedge and across the path in front of Shara.

She didn't hesitate. Shara laid her rifle down, drew a knife, then took two silent steps forward. The pirate was silenced.

_Shards,_ Zyan thought. He crouch-walked forward to join Shara.

She was cleaning her knife on the man's clothes.

"Unfortunate," she whispered.

"Did he see you?" Zyan whispered back.

Shara nodded, and slid the knife back.

"Shard it," Zyan said. "If Anna's to be believed, these guys are basically security sensors. If one goes dark suddenly, the chief bad guy's going to know something is up."

"No help for it," Shara said. "They already know this particular zombie was dying. Maybe they'll assume he checked out suddenly."

Zyan winced. "Do we have to use the Z word?"

Looking at the man's corpse, though, 'zombie' wasn't a bad term – the man's hair had started to fall out, his skin was pale and mottled, his eyes clouded and his teeth brown and decaying. He stank, and his clothes were stained with drool and what seemed to be dried vomit and blood. It didn't seem so very far-fetched that his controller might simply assume he'd died.

"Seems a convenient label," Shara shrugged.

"Ugh. Let's hope they do think he just expired," Zyan agreed. "Looks like you did him a favour if you hurried it along a bit."

"I'm a regular angel of mercy," Shara whispered. "Let's move out before any more ZSPs turn up."

"Zed ess what?"

"ZSPs – zombie space pirates. Thought you might prefer an acronym, since you're apparently so opposed to traditional labels," Shara explained.

"Thoughtful of you, thanks," Zyan replied.

They continued, drawing ever nearer to the huge pillar stretching up overhead. Looking at it induced a sense of personal unimportance, that one was too insignificant to make any difference against the minds that had designed and wrought such works. Presumably this had been the builder's intention, or at least a welcome side-effect.

Zyan got the urge to stop, and obeyed it. They both knelt down, next to another of the ventilation grilles. Through the hedge, he could see that the road passed by the base of the spoke, around which a large, squat-looking building had been erected. His borrowed memory of it was from when it was new. Then it had been a brutalist, ugly block: now, on top of that, it was stained with fungal growth and looked as diseased as the purpose it had been made for: to contain slaves. There were no windows and only one entrance, a large door guarded by four of the Overlord's ZSPs, all of them looking nearly as unhealthy as the guy Shara had just put out of his misery. They each toted a pulse rifle, though, and were looking about keenly enough. Beside the entrance, a rail ran up the side of the spoke, disappearing into the vertiginous distance. The open-sided lift car that ran along it was cranked a few metres off the ground to form a watchtower for two more sentries. One of them walked from one side to the other, keeping an eye out. The other one, though, had dropped his rifle and just sat down with his back against the railings, eyes closed. Zyan didn't think he was sleeping on the job: he was dead. The Overlord certainly looked to be going through minions pretty quickly.

"That the only way in?" Shara whispered.

Thanks to Anna, Zyan knew that it was. The underground ways in were flooded. He smiled grimly as he thought about that.

"I don't know if it's reassuring or worrying that she's not infallible," he said.

"What? Who?" Shara asked.

"Anna," Zyan said. "There's a way in underneath, via the maglev station, but it's flooded. She's forgotten one thing, though," Zyan said.

Shara looked at him quizzically.

"We're in spacesuits," he said, with a grin.

Zyan started to quietly remove the grille – this one was larger than the example they'd emerged from farther back, but equally as degraded. He was interrupted, though, by the whine of an electric motor.

A large, patched-looking wheeled vehicle hummed down the road from the opposite direction, and it was loaded with more of the Overlord's troops. They jumped out, and started to form up into quartets. Search parties.

"Shards," Zyan said. "We've been rumbled."

"Yep," Shara agreed. "Swap."

She held out the assault pulser.

"What?" Zyan asked her, surprised.

"That long gun's no use inside, and you may need something fairly explodey to take out the Overlord, so swap," she repeated. She dialed her suit comm and raised it to her lips. "I need cover _now_, give me as long as you can." She was addressing Anna, of course, but Shara was a pro: no unnecessary detail.

Her use of 'I' and 'me' probably wasn't a coincidence, either. Shara knew what she was doing. Zyan handed over the sniper rifle and accepted the assault pulser in return. He felt a simultaneous odd, fuzzy feeling at the back of his head – a little like crystal resonance. Anna's psionic overwatch, or so he hoped.

"What have you got in mind?" Zyan asked, both urgently and somewhat doubtfully.

"They don't know how many of us there are: they saw me, not you – so I'm going to let them see me again," Shara explained. "I'll create some chaos, you go get our friend, we both hope that when you find her your 'effective countermeasure' is actually _effective_. Clock's ticking, no time to argue and you know it. Go!"

Zyan didn't like this as a plan, but had a hard time coming up with an alternative in the precisely zero seconds available. It _would_ be much easier to infiltrate if the ZSPs and their master believed all the action was outside.

"Okay, good hunting – and don't get dead!" He said, taking his pack off.

Shara gave him her trademark smirk: it genuinely looked like she was enjoying herself. "I'm immune to death – but I _am_ a carrier."

Then she turned, raised the rifle to high port, and fired a single shot. There was no smoke, very little recoil, and a truncated hiss rather than the report of a chemically powered round. The sentry on the high platform literally _exploded_.

Shara's expression of joy and wonder was almost childlike. "Oh, this is going to be _so_ much fun. Are you still here?"

She took off in a crouched run, firing twice more as she went.

Zyan took the hint, sealed his helmet, then dived down the ventilation shaft, pack and rifle first.

The extra weight of the pack and gun was enough negative buoyancy to take him down and out of the shaft. He flicked on his suit lights just in time to illuminate a maglev module which had been flipped onto it's side, it's viewports smashed. He kicked his legs, avoiding it, then touched down beside it, stirring up centuries of silt and debris around his ankles.

He turned around, and his lights illuminated the wrecked and flooded station. There was another module, this one in the correct orientation, and thankfully with both side doors opened. He struggled back into his pack straps, then pulled himself through it with one hand, the other holding the rifle. Belatedly, he realised he didn't know if it would fire after getting wet: FSP pulsers would, and he had no worries about the stun pistol, but this alien weapon was an unknown.

Beyond the other module were a couple of exits, hexagonal, again, as everything was, and sloping upwards. With no information from Anna, Zyan picked one at random and started toward it, skirting odd bits of junk. He dimmed his suit lights: he hadn't gone down through more than maybe three or four metres of water, and didn't want to emerge as a blindingly well-lit target.

He tried to discipline his mind, suppressing worry for both Alenda and Shara, for whether Anna's interference would shield him from the Overlord for long enough: whether it would work at all. He concentrated on the mission, then started to worry that this would just broadcast the equivalent of a live video feed to the Overlord. He started running through his mental count – 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4 – tried to keep his thoughts behind it. Alenda had once told him he required more practice, which he admittedly had not been doing, but the fact she'd mentioned it did suggest it was at least a vaguely effective approach. Maybe she'd just been trying to be nice.

Zyan thought he detected a faint glow ahead, and killed his suit lights entirely. He tried to bring the rifle up to his shoulder, but since he was using one hand to help propel him through the water this was not practical. The floor started to incline upwards – he could make out the surface of the water above his head, and stairs beneath his feet. Crystal singer sight was a wonderful thing.

He abandoned his flailing and instead moved slowly using his feet only. He had to crouch, to keep beneath the surface of the water. He drew his stun pistol – probably quieter than the assault pulser – and risked sticking his head up and out.

The hexagonal passage continued in the dry, the stairs leading upwards. There were dim lights recessed into the ceiling every metre or so, most of them still working but some of them smashed or dead. There was nobody guarding it, but the sound of pulser fire echoed down the passage, getting, Zyan thought, gradually fainter. Shara's side of the plan was working, then – she was leading them off.

He slid his helmet back – the water stank. His suit and backpack material wasn't absorbent, and very quickly shed droplets as he stepped out, but he was probably going to leave wet footprints anyway. They might betray his presence, but there was no help for it. He hoped the backpack had kept the spare suit dry, otherwise it wasn't going to be easy or pleasant for Alenda to put on.

Zyan advanced slowly forward, stepping lightly and carefully, trying to make the minimum of noise. The downside of his revised infiltration point was that he now didn't know where he was – he needed to know the relative location of the original entrance, then he'd be able to orient himself. Luck was on his side – he spotted another tertiary service panel on the wall.

"Anna?" He whispered into his comm. "I'm in, but I need-"

The response was immediate: Anna literally slammed a route into his mind, along with a warning so obvious she may aswell have screamed it at him: NO TIME LOSING BATTLE KILL IT NOW!

"We've already hit 'shard it', then," Zyan said to himself, as he threw caution to the wind. He took off at a sprint, following his new directions. Up the stairs, left, right, straight on and then he'd be there: a mental picture of a large steel cage, the most secure part of the slave pens. He shoved the stun pistol back into it's holster and got a proper firing grip on the assault pulser instead.

There was a pair of ZSPs running along the passage at the top of the stairs, but they'd already run past the junction. Zyan risked it – he didn't want them behind him but he didn't want to give the game away by opening fire – he just ducked out, turned left and kept going. The right turn led him into an empty passage, lined with empty cells, some doors open, some doors closed. He didn't pause to look because there was brighter light ahead. He ran forward, into a large hexagonal chamber.

There was a lot to take in – Alenda was in the cage, she turned to see him, surprise and fear on her face, but there was no time to feel relief. The chamber also contained two ZSPs, Anderssen, and a thing out of nightmare. Anderssen was by the cage: the thing and it's pair of minions were across the chamber, by the far entrance.

It was huge, glistening black, hulking: claws tipped it's six-fingered, multi-jointed hands. It turned a baleful, segmented glare on Zyan and opened it's mandibles in a hissing challenge: Anna had been right on the money about the teeth.

"Alenda get down!" Zyan shouted. _Anna I'm engaging now! _He cast the thought wide, hoping she was monitoring as promised: stealth was now no longer an option.

Zyan forced himself to ignore the creature that had to be the Overlord, concentrating instead on the ZSPs flanking it: _they_ were armed with pulsers, the creature, however terrifying, was not.

One pirate fired and missed, the rounds whirring through the air above Zyan as he ducked and rolled, using every last micron of his spore-adapted reactions to come up firing. The assault pulser thrummed lightly against his shoulder as he loosed a burst. His aim was true – all of the man's head, aswell as his left shoulder and arm, disappeared. Zyan used his momentum, kept moving, dived sideways. The other pirate's pulser carved a jagged groove out of the floor where Zyan had fired from, but he was already somewhere else. He pushed himself up on his elbow, fired from the hip – it was a sharding awkward position to fire from, he was still sliding across the rough floor, and the gun's grips were too big for a steady grip. He squeezed the trigger and held it down, deciding to expend the ammunition to make sure of his target.

The wall behind the ZSP exploded in plascrete dust and chippings, but three large holes also appeared in the man's chest, sending his body to the ground in a twisted, semi-dismembered chunk.

The creature hissed again.

"Zyan, no!" Alenda was shouting, he had no idea why, but it would be a bad idea to think about that now, he had more pressing concerns: the gun was clicking empty.

There was an impression of regret, suddenly. Anna, Zyan guessed, monitoring things and picking up that he was out of ammo, but she didn't know the show wasn't over yet.

"Impressive," the Overlord hissed, jaws working in a very disconcerting way. It could easily bite a man's head clean off. "You seem to be out of ammunition, however."

"Zyan, hold your fire!" Alenda shouted.

"Nearly right," Zyan told the huge insectile creature, as it raised it's leg – it had four – to take a step in his direction. "I'm out of _bullets_."

He levered himself up, worked the pump to load a grenade, and pulled the _other_ trigger. The gun made a _whump_ noise and jerked. The grenade was a low velocity projectile, almost visible, it seemed, as it flew across the chamber and took the Overlord in the chest. It detonated with a short, sharp _crack_ and a flash of light. The Overlord hissed in pain and staggered backwards, then hissed again, this time in anger, pushed itself off the wall and advanced.

"Pathetic!" It snarled. "Your puny weapons cannot harm me!"

Zyan loaded another grenade and fired, getting it right in the middle of it's thorax. This time the hiss was louder, and Zyan saw fragments of chitinous armour spiral away from the explosion. He stood, and followed it up immediately with the final grenade. This one penetrated before detonation, and in a horizontal fountain of black gore, the Overlord was blasted in two. The two halves fell to the floor, lifeless.

"Turns out, not so much," Zyan said, letting the gun drop to the floor.

_Anna, it's dead, do your zombie-sleeping thing,_ Zyan thought, then immediately went over to the cage.

Alenda was on her knees, clutching her head. Zyan's ears were also ringing from all the gunfire and explosions, but this looked like more than that. He had to get in there. Anderssen, too, had his hands up to his head, looking confused and shell-shocked.

Zyan went past him, up to the cage. It was almost clean inside, he noticed. Alenda had been provided with a collapsible bed, water, ration packs and a hygiene unit – a valued prisoner. The door, however, was firmly locked with an alien keypad.

"Alenda? Alenda!" He rattled the door. She stayed down, unable, it seemed, to move. "Shard it!" Zyan swore.

"Hey!" He said to Anderssen, whirling round to get his attention. "Anderssen, right? We can help you man, but that's my friend in there. Can you get the door open?"

Anderssen was wide-eyed: one eye was, anyway, the artificial replacement was impassive.

"Wh-what?" He asked. "Where am I? Where are my crew? Who are you?"

Zyan put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I can't even begin to think what you've been through, but it's dead now. You're free. Can you get this door open?"

Anderssen nodded, typed in a quick series of keypresses, and the lock thunked open.

Zyan rushed inside, knelt down beside Alenda. Not knowing what else to do, he tried to take her hands away from her ears.

"Alenda? It's me. It's Zyan. Can you hear me?" He asked, deathly worried.

The cage door clicked shut.

Anderssen was clapping slowly. "I can't actually cry," he said, "but if I could? I'd be in floods, I swear."

Zyan looked round. "Anderssen, what the shard? Open the door, we have to get her out of here!"

Alenda removed her hands from her ears, as if some incessant noise had suddenly abated. She blinked, looked up at him. "Oh, gods. I'm sorry, Zyan," she said. "I couldn't stop him. I couldn't get through to you."

It started to dawn on Zyan that he'd badly misinterpreted the situation. He looked over at the far wall: there were two dead ZSPs, and three very large holes, but no dead Overlord.

He remembered Brendan's boast: _'I__ have a very advanced med bay capable of complex surgical operations on every known alien species, and even some not so well known'. _Had that, on some level, been a warning? Too late now.

Alenda had tried to warn him, and he'd felt Anna's sense of failure. They'd both known. He'd seen only what the Overlord wanted him to see.

Anderssen wasn't a puppet of the Overlord. Anderssen _was_ the Overlord.

Zyan slammed his suit comm up to max. BlackTalk was already broadcasting everything, but he didn't necessarily want the Overlord to know that, if by some lucky chance he didn't already. "Abort op, abort op! I'm compromised repeat I'm compromised! Get out of here, Juliet, do not come back!"

"Ahem, I believe her name is _Shara_," Anderssen-Overlord said delicately. "I look forward to meeting her in due course."

"You tricky piece of shard waste," Zyan said.

Anderssen spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance. "Guilty as charged, CS Jarvis, guilty as charged. To be perfectly frank, by the way, I'm amazed and disappointed that the 'your puny weapons cannot harm me' line didn't tip you off. More than a little cliched, in retrospect, but I suppose the phrase has fallen out of human popular culture in recent centuries. You've forgotten your stun pistol, by the way," Anderssen pointed helpfully to the holstered weapon.

Although he already knew it was hopeless, Zyan drew and fired: three, four, five harsh buzzes. The stun bolts slammed into Anderssen, who stood there, quite unalarmed and unaffected.

Anderssen smiled thinly. "Well, I suppose 'your puny weapons cannot harm me' covers it pretty well this time, too," he repeated.

"Shardhole," Zyan spat at him.

"I'm not here to make friends, CS Jarvis. You can put that away again, it's not going to inconvenience me overmuch. Keeping Guildmember Falkstrom _and_ that sharding computer at bay, on the other hand, now _that_ is something I can feel proud of. I'd thought the damned thing long since deactivated and destroyed: an oversight I'll correct in short order."

Zyan holstered the pistol, and bent over to help Alenda. She was already getting to her feet. He helped her up, gave her a hug. She weakly hugged him back.

"You shouldn't have come, Zyan," she said, "but at the risk of seeming selfish, I am glad you are with me."

She looked terrible: drawn, even paler than usual. Her hair was lank, lifeless, and her eyes shadowed. She was shaking – and Zyan immediately went cold inside when he noticed. Was this just privation and exhaustion, or was it the beginning of her symbiont failing? Had she already been away too long?

He'd been about to kiss her, while he still had agency, but he was mindful of Sentinel's warning, given to him in Alenda's own voice: _t__his isn't something that's been attempted before, it could prove to be...physically demanding. _He gathered her into an embrace instead, holding her upright, and tried to bury any thoughts of the Junks where the Overlord could not dig them up.

For all her harrowed appearance, though, Alenda was also doing her own information security: she didn't ask him how he'd managed to figure out where she was, if and how he'd accessed memories she'd cut him off from, was it just Shara or was there someone else. Neither did she attempt to communicate in the alternative way – although the Overlord could be preventing that, he supposed.

She didn't want the Overlord to know, even though she must know his capabilities better than Zyan did. But if he wanted Zyan's thoughts, surely he could just take them?

"Ah," Anderssen said, raising an eyebrow. "There we have the crux of it. Let us have a truce for a moment, there is much to discuss. I hope you are not unduly distressed after our latest clash of wills, Guildmember Falkstrom?"

"As ever, you can go to hell," Alenda informed him haughtily. Even in a situation like this, barely able to stand, she haughted really well.

"Look around, Guildmember. What do you think this is, if not hell itself?" Anderssen asked.

"I don't know, but when I get out of here I'm going to leave terrible reviews on every traveller's info feed I can find, the accomodation is frankly awful," Zyan told him, then wondered when the Overlord had changed from 'it' to 'him' in his head. Had he done that himself, or was that an intervention?

Anderssen arranged an insincere smile at the quip.

"I must admit, you're the first celebrity I've come across. Black Zyan himself, in my humble abode. Do you get asked for autographs?" Anderssen asked.

"Yeah, sure. Let me out and I'll sign one for you," Zyan replied.

"I'd be overjoyed to let you out, CS Jarvis. I'm wondering if you're the sort of chap who's willing to 'do business', I believe the phrase is," Anderssen told him.

"If you're looking to buy crystal, sorry, the Guild has the monopoly and I'm all out right now," Zyan said flatly.

"Fascinating stuff, to be sure, but not what I was referring to. It's more your other line of work I'm interested in. You see, when I said you'd come to the crux of the issue when you wondered why I did not simply read your mind, you'd hit upon a problem I'm facing. You see, CS Jarvis, I rather think I'm going to conquer the FSP: for starters, anyway. I can make as many soldiers as I want, but as you've seen," Anderssen indicated the dead ZSPs, "they have their limitations. So, I'm looking to recruit some trusted lieutenants, motivated ladies and gentlemen who bring something unique to the table. There is a new order coming. _My _order_._ I _will_ triumph over this lacklustre little Federation of Fools I find myself in the midst of. The FSP will be swept away, and I can sense that you would not mourn it's passing overmuch, Black Zyan," Anderssen said.

"Not massively keen on the alternative, Anderssen. A galaxy full of zom-, of brain dead catatonics doesn't strike me as a good time," Zyan replied.

"It needn't go that way," Anderssen waved that aside. "We could replace it with something better, something that truly enshrines justice and maintains an order that works for all."

Anderssen had adopted a lectorial manner, walking from side to side in front of the cage. "Where was the FSP when your homeworld was in chaos and your countrymen and women oppressed and dying? Far away, pointlessly moralising, while honourless snakes cut from the same cloth as Moran and Saito cut your legs out from under you. The FSP should have begged the forgiveness of your rebellion, and helped you finish the good work you had started."

"Thought you said you _weren't_ here to make friends," Zyan said.

"As I said, I am trying to recruit allies. You are strong-willed and strong-minded, and I can respect that. Men such as you should never suffer a fate such as these," he indicated the two fallen ZSPs again. "Men such as you should _lead_. You could _rule_ the Scorian sector as you wished, accountable only to me. Cast out the old singers holding the Guild back, and remake it as you would see it run. Then, for an encore, you could return to Djiel at the head of an army, and mete out whatever justice you wished to the Protectorate scum who have so far escaped the execution they so richly deserve. Then, if you wish, move on to the FSP, help me usher in a new age of peace and justice for all. With power such as I command – such as Guildmember Falkstrom can wield – all things are possible."

"Yeah, no," was Zyan's only reply.

"I have seen your every thought, Black Zyan. Your gamble has failed and you have no more cards to play. Why continue down a path that will only lead to defeat? Why defend an institution that you hate?" Anderssen asked.

Zyan shook his head. "Why does everyone assume I'm on some kind of crusade? It's not that complicated. I'm here for _her_," Zyan said, pointing to Alenda, "not to right wrongs, do deals or enlist in someone's galactic domination army."

"Choosing death over dishonour is a fine thing, CS Jarvis, but would your young protegee out there agree?" Anderssen asked, with the trace of a threat.

A chill passed through Zyan at the threat, but he covered it as quickly as he could.

"She's not my protegee – she's better at this than I am, in fact. Also, she's even less inclined to parlay with the likes of you," Zyan said.

In truth, he was only still talking because he was unsure of Alenda's condition, and his mind was racing, trying to find alternatives. How Anderssen hadn't seen this he didn't know – perhaps a deeper look into someone's mind required contact, or ran the risk of turning the subject into a ZSP, something Anderssen didn't seem to want to do to him: yet.

Zyan went on. "Mind control or not, if she walks in here I don't rate your chances. _Especially_ if you carry on with the lecture, she's got limited patience for anything that bores her and her default solution for pretty much any problem is to eliminate it violently."

Anderssen snorted. "We shall see."

He turned his attention to Alenda. "Guildmember Falkstrom, you are a pragmatist. Exigency have made their final move, and I have countered it. This game ends only with my victory, now. If you die here with your mate, your influence over me ends, and I will go on to rule as I wish. If you stand with me, I will listen to your counsel. You will be my equal, and we will rule an empire _together_."

Alenda simply glowered at him.

"Once again I remind you I have much to teach you. Do you wish to forever cower inside your own mind, afraid of your own power? With my help you can unleash it. Already your life is far from mortal, but with my help I can free you from your dependence on the planet that chains you. Look!"

Anderssen lifted his arm to one side, in an oddly theatrical gesture that seemed wildly out of place in the grim setting of a dungeon.

Zyan also saw what Anderssen conjured. Rank upon rank of hexagonal chambers, each containing a humanoid figure, floating lifeless in a glowing orange fluid. Then a vision of Alenda walked into view – aged, with a lined face. She collapsed to the floor, and one of the chambers opened. A young Alenda emerged, stepped over her previous body, and walked out of view, smiling.

"Life everlasting, Guildmember Falkstrom," Anderssen said, as his illusion faded. "No catches, no limitations, no dependence on primitive creatures infecting one's blood, chaining you to a windblown ball of blasted rock."

Then he smiled, a predatory, malicious smirk. "And do I detect that you may need it sooner rather than later? The wondrous Ballybran symbiont does have it's limitations, and I wonder if you have begun to discover them the hard way?"

"You sharding bastard, you know you're killing her just keeping her here!" Zyan snarled.

"One has to have leverage," Anderssen shrugged. "But it can be, how do you say, 'a double-edged sword'. I must admit, your culture has a pleasing array of metaphors: my own culture didn't even have the concept."

Anderssen approached the bars, and his voice became low and persuasive. "So on the subject of leverage, consider this, Guildmember Falkstrom. Your power may one day exceed mine. When that day arrives, you could strike me down and restore your precious FSP. I accept this risk – it is a price worth paying for your allegiance, because together, _together_, Guildmember Falkstrom," Anderssen made a clenching gesture. "Together, we could rule the _universe!"_

Alenda's reply didn't disappoint. "I suggest you take your promises, your bribes, your lies, threats and cloning chambers, Mr. Anderssen, and insert them into your posterior opening where they belong, alongside whatever other useless waste you generate."

"Full marks for insane megalomania, though," Zyan added. "World? Nah. System? Pfft. Galaxy? Aim higher. It's universe or nothing, for you. You're committed to your nutcasery, I'll give you that."

"I have been more than patient," Anderssen stated, stepping back from the bars. "This is your final chance. Join me, or die."

"Still with the cliches," Zyan said, then screwed up his courage and resolve, and spoke to Alenda. "I'm sorry about this, but since we're both about to die anyway, kiss me like you mean it?"

Alenda gave a wan smile. "Always."

He kissed her, she kissed him back. Zyan experienced a sudden, deeply strange, disjointed feeling. He physically shuddered as Sentinel's download left his mind and flooded into Alenda's.

Her eyes widened, and then she spasmed, became limp in his arms, and started convulsing.

He lowered her to the floor, as gently as he could while she juddered.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry Alenda!" He repeated, terrified. "Please be okay, please be okay."

"No!" Anderssen screamed. "What have you done to her?"

"I don't know!" Zyan replied, with total honesty. Right then he really didn't.

"Liar!" Anderssen snarled. "Tell me what trickery this is! What have you done to her!"

Alenda became still – she was still breathing, shallow, quick breaths. Zyan laid her on her side, kissed his fingers and brushed her cheek, and said goodbye. He hoped that she'd be okay. He hoped that she'd come to with a proper grip on her powers and rip Anderssen's mind into tiny shreds. He didn't have any hope that he'd live to see it, though, or not in any way that was still really him.

He stood up, and turned to face Anderssen. "Wow, you really have the hots for my girlfriend, don't you? You get the full package of added extra parts when you got the human body makeover?"

"Tell me!" Anderssen insisted, his face bleak.

"No," Zyan said. A few stun bolts into his own head should stop the Overlord knowing what he knew. He drew his pistol...

...and put it down on the table. A man in the uniform of the Protectorate Civil Harmony Directorate took it away.

"Zyan Jarvis," the man said, leafing through a file. It was a hefty one, but Zyan knew that trick: they bulked it up with random paperwork, to make you think they knew more about you than you did yourself. "Second year student here. Performing Arts."

Zyan looked around the small interview room. Four walls, one door, several security sensors, no windows. Every academic institution had one like it, for the convenience of PCHD officers sent to keep the students in line.

"Yes sir," Zyan responded.

"Not doing particularly well, are you?" The man said, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm achieving passing marks, sir," Zyan replied.

"Passing is not excelling, Jarvis. You should apply yourself more. Is there perhaps something distracting you from your studies?" The man asked, again leafing through the file.

There was indeed: Zyan had been attending resistance meetings for the past several weeks, and last night had thrown a molotov cocktail through this very man's office window.

"You're only young once, sir," Zyan answered, with an attempt at humour.

"Indeed," the PCHD officer replied dryly. "A word of advice, Jarvis: if you wish to remain a student here, then you should leave visiting dignitaries very much alone. What did you do to the Guildmember?"

"The who?" Zyan replied. "I haven't been on the welcoming committees for any visitors, sir. That's for students who _are_ excelling."

The PCHD man stared at him. "Answer me, or this interrogation can continue in a Re-education Camp, Jarvis. We've got our suspicions about you anyway, and now this. What did you do to her?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zyan shrugged, holding out his hands.

A Protectorate guard took his left one, and manacled it to a podium.

The judge began speaking. "Zyan Ezekiel Jarvis, you have heard the charges of which you have been convicted. The crowd howled, shoving against the inadequate barriers. "The sentence is death. However, this court is minded to be merciful. Tell us what you did to Guildmember Falkstrom, and your sentence will be commuted to exile."

"Everything you lot are pinning on me, and it's kissing a girl that you're all so worked up over?" Zyan replied, and snorted.

"This court will not tolerate disrespect!" The judge announced. "You will give us a full account of what you did to Guildmember Falkstrom, or you will hang!"

Zyan smiled thinly, and gave the man a rude gesture. The crowd howled, and the barrier broke.

"I told you this was a waste of time," Jerblek said to the other four committee members. "Black Zyan will not co-operate, even to save the life of an innocent woman!"

Yanaka banged the table in front of her. Zyan, flanked by Flay and Jakovsky, looked up. He was in the conference room on Barney's Rock. "Refusing to co-operate with valid Federal authorities is a very serious crime, citizen! What did you do to the Guildmember!"

Zyan blinked, and looked at each face in line. At the end of the table, off to one side, Soros Vander looked coolly back.

They were in the nameless bar again. Vander handed him a drink. "Look, Zyan – I can call you Zyan, right? You're in a position to benefit very greatly here. Tell me what you did to Alenda, and we'll call it a round two thousand CRs. You can go a long way with that in your pocket."

"You can go and shard yourself, you spineless, cowering little fardling," Zyan sprang to his feet, lashed the drink into the man's face, then smashed the glass over his head.

He was in the back of a technical, with McKenzie. She levelled her stun pistol at him.

"Tell me what you did to the Guild woman," Jamila said, "and you can walk away from this right now."

"Get lost, McKenzie," Zyan said, shaking his head.

"Make the wise move, Jarvis," Konovalov said, along the barrel of his pulse rifle. "Tell me what you did to her."

Zyan backed up towards the empty black crystal mount, and threw the smoke grenade. It detonated, and everything went white.

"Is there nothing you can do?" The Guildmaster asked Presnol, tears standing out in his eyes. In the infirmary, lights blinked and monitors hummed.

Alenda was lying on a med bed – thin and wasted, her skin nearly translucent, clinging to her bones.

Presnol shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lars, we've done everything we can. If we only knew what _happened_, then perhaps we could reverse the damage."

The Guildmaster turned to Zyan. "Please," he asked, "tell us what happened."

"I, I cannot say," Zyan responded, shaking his head and backing away into a corner of the room.

"Anything you could tell us, Zyan, anything at all, the smallest detail could be all we need to heal her," Presnol said.

Zyan shook his head.

The door swished open, and Donalla entered. "I think I've got it," she said, waving a data pad, "but without knowing all the facts about what happened, it's risky."

The Crystal Singer followed her in, and immediately pinned Zyan with a ferocious stare.

"Listen to me, Jarvis," she said, walking right up to him. "I don't give an old half credit about the FSP Secrecy Act or whatever shard-waste promises you had to make to Exigency. That's Alenda on that table, and if you know something that might help her, you will sharding well tell us right now!"

"I'm sorry, Crystal Singer, I can't," Zyan replied. "Think I like it? I don't, but that's the way it has to be."

"Fardles!" The Crystal Singer jabbed him in the chest with a finger so hard it hurt. "If you let her die, you'd better go out and wait for the next mach storm, because believe you me it'll be _nothing_ compared to what I'll do to you."

Zyan rubbed his chest where she'd prodded him. It still hurt, a little.

It _hurt_. That wasn't right.

He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again. He glanced at his suit readout: several minutes had passed, he was sweating profusely and felt like he'd just run a marathon. A strange tingling feeling in his head told him he'd would probably be in intense pain, if he could feel any.

But he'd kicked the Overlord out.

"Well, well, well," Zyan did a creditable imitation of Shara's smirk. "Looks like someone's mental hoodoo has come up a bit short. Alenda had no trouble rearranging things in my head as she wanted. Like six times or something: not that I want you to feel, y'know, _inadequate_. Either way, I'm not telling you a sharding thing, Anderssen," Zyan told the Overlord.

Anderssen looked back at him with, Zyan fancied, a small shred of surprise.

"I can still bend you to my will," Anderssen threatened.

"Not, I'm betting, without wiping out what you want to know," Zyan replied calmly.

Anderssen glared.

"So be it, Crystal Singer," the alien said. "Traditional methods are still open to me, however. Tell me what I want to know, or you shall know pain and torment worse than you could possibly imagine. I have had _centuries_ to perfect my techniques on beings such as you."

Zyan smiled bleakly. "I don't feel pain, Anderssen." He knelt down next to Alenda again.

Anderssen glowered at him and then walked over to one of the dead ZSPs, picked up the fallen man's pulse rifle, walked back and levelled it at Zyan.

"I'll make it very simple for you, Black Zyan," Anderssen said. "Tell me what you did to her, or _die_."

"Still not going to help you unlock what's up here, is it?" Zyan tapped his ear, but the gesture was actually to release the BlackTalk device. Under cover of once again brushing her cheek, put it into Alenda's ear, then stood.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he felt Alenda's familiar presence in his mind again. _Keep still, don't give anything away, and_ _bite your lip inside your mouth!_

_Alenda! You're okay! Thank God. What do you mean by-_

_Here's what I mean,_ Alenda sent, and a plan of action blossomed in his mind. _We have to buy a little time. Trust me._

_Always_, Zyan replied, and bit his lower lip. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

Anderssen appeared completely unaware of the exchange. Zyan saw the alien's finger tighten on the trigger.

"Subcutaneous drug sacs," he blurted out, and let the blood trickle out of his mouth.

"What?" Anderssen asked, lowering the pulser – a little.

_Keep talking_, Alenda hinted.

"Advanced biotech implants," Zyan lied. "Exigency are smart operators, Anderss-, look, sorry, I get that this is a really very tense moment but what do I call you? Is it Overlord or is it Anderssen? It's a bit confusing, to be honest with you."

Anderssen glared. "Get on with it, Crystal Singer. My patience wears thin."

Zyan shrugged. "Okay, okay. Exigency never back just one horse, Anderssen. Did you think Steeplejack was their only play? There's probably like ten backup plans, and this," Zyan pointed to the blood on his chin, "is only one of them. It's a-"

_Um, little help, _he thought to Alenda.

_Anti-empathic neurotoxin_, Alenda prompted him.

"It's an anti-empathic neurotoxin," Zyan parroted. "Shuts down the neurons that let empaths do their thing, both in me and in her. She's not waking up any time soon, and you're not going to be able to get in here any time soon either." Zyan tapped his head meaningfully. "Exigency weren't sure it'd work on whatever it is Alenda and you are but, well, they believe in a multi-pronged approach to problem solving."

_Just a little longer_, Alenda sent.

"And if you were wondering if there was an antidote? You're shard out of luck," Zyan said. "Now, let's talk about your surrender."

Anderssen snorted. "My surrender? Hah! I need but wait. You are, after all, in there, and I am out here."

_And time,_ Alenda sent.

Zyan grinned. "Yep – but so's _she."_

There was a hiss, and then a meaty-sounding _thunk_ as an arrow sunk into Anderssen's arm. He cursed and dropped the pulser, then whirled around just in time to get another one directly in the chest. A third one went through his remaining natural eye and out the back of his skull – but still he stood.

Shara strode calmly into the room and up to Anderssen. Her suit was covered in blood and gore, as was much of her face.

"You fool!" Anderssen snarled. "Did you think this was a mere human body? This vessel is the pinnacle of a thousand years of work, mere crude _sticks_ cannot-"

The Overlord was interrupted by a three foot long traditional Zentaran butcher's "knife" slicing through his neck and taking his head off his shoulders, but Shara wasn't finished. She raised the sword above her head and brought it down through his body, cleaving it in two, then before the two parts could topple over, she swept it around in a horizontal arc and turned them into _four_ parts, which she then allowed to fall to the floor. A considerable amount of black blood was now added to the red already covering her suit and range jacket.

She nudged the nearest Overlord-chunk with her foot, and smirked. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Whoa!" Zyan exclaimed, equal parts impressed and terrified. "Shards, Shara, are you okay?" He asked, even as he helped Alenda to her feet.

Shara looked up, as if genuinely confused. "Never better, why?"

"Um, you're covered in blood," Zyan pointed out.

"Well yeah, genius, I just cut a guy into five pieces, it's going to get a bit messy."

"No, before that," Zyan added.

Shara looked down. "Oh, that. Yeah, that's just the blood of my enemies. This season's must-wear accessory, goes with any outfit as long as you're okay with only wearing it the one time." She grinned. "Hey Alenda."

"Shara, it's good too see you. Thank you for your timely intervention," Alenda responded.

"Thank_ you _for running interference for me so I could think. Anyway, you're welcome, I have had just the _best_ time," Shara grinned again. She genuinely looked absolutely thrilled with the way the day was going.

"Shara, shoot the sharding lock out already," Zyan said.

Alenda and Zyan stood away from the door. Shara picked up the Overlord's pulser and squeezed off a burst. The lock disappeared, and the cage door swung open.

"So, looks like I'm doing the assassination _and_ the rescuing. Some knight in shining armour you are," Shara told Zyan.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Thank you. In my defence I thought I'd already exploded the bad guy when he locked me in here with Alenda," Zyan explained.

"Did you waste the grenades?" Shara asked, offended.

Zyan nodded guiltily. Shara looked annoyed, then shrugged. "Anyway, we good to go? This place is awful."

Alenda shook her head. "No. This was but the latest form the Overlord took. Even now, his consciousness is settling into a new body."

Zyan retrieved the other pulser, along with a spare clip.

"So let's go on a bug hunt," Shara said. "We splat until he runs out of bodies."

Alenda shook her head. "No. This vessel must be completely destroyed – it's the only way to be sure. Does that backpack contain a suit for me?"

Zyan nodded, slipped out of his backpack, and got the spare suit out. It was reasonably dry. Alenda got into it with a practiced efficiency that suggested it was something she'd done a lot.

She seemed physically better as well as mentally recovered. The shaking had stopped, and although she still wasn't her usual impeccably presented self, she moved with her usual grace.

She turned to face him. "Thank you," she said. "I know there's much to be said – I'm very sorry, for the way I treated you, for what I did. I will never, I fear, be able to make it up to you. I'm surprised you still came, after you found out."

Zyan shook his head. "None of that matters. Nothing could've kept me away," he said. "What did...what was in there, for you?" He tapped his head again, something he seemed to be doing a lot at the moment.

"A great deal, but most of it was just...me," Alenda answered. "The me that exists in your mind. I didn't have the confidence to master this power, but for the perfect utopian goddess of grace and beauty that I apparently present as to you, turning it off or up to eleven is merely a matter of deciding it to be so." She smiled at him. Zyan's heart leapt.

"Totally agree on the goddess of utopia bit, obviously, whichever planet that is, but that's all it was, just a confidence boost?" He asked.

"Sentinel also threw in a few other hints and pointers, some of which I have yet to fully explore. We must pop in on the way back so I can say thank you properly. The junks just saved the FSP, after all – or will have, if we get a move on. We need to exfiltrate, now."

"Yep, let's get right on that. Slight complication: I said we'd get Anna, who – and this is a bit weird but, y'know, it's that kind of a day – is a psychic computer holed up at the far end of-"

"I know," Alenda interrupted him. "We're in touch. We'll retrieve her before you do what you do best."

"He has something he does best?" Shara snorted.

Alenda smiled at her. "Lots of things: but right now, what is most relevant is that he's rather talented at blowing things up."

"Oh, that. Granted, yeah," Shara allowed.

Zyan interrupted. "You said you're in touch with Anna. Anna said that the Overlord could hear or sense or whatever any communication of _that_ sort."

"Don't worry," Alenda said. "My mind is encrypted now."

Zyan blinked. "Wow."

During this time, they'd all been walking hurriedly out of the building. Shara led the way, pulser trained along the passage ahead. Zyan brought up the rear, making sure nobody came up from behind. He'd kept the backpack, although it was mostly empty now.

"Thoughts on how to blow this place up, Zyan?" Alenda asked.

"You mean like literal _thoughts_?" Zyan asked.

Alenda smiled. "No. My default setting is now speaking and listening like anyone else. I'll resort to other options only if necessary."

Zyan nodded. "Okay. Well, a reactor overload is usually a good standby."

Alenda cocked her head to one side. "Anna does not think that will work. The reactor is too depleted."

"Alright then, there are two pocket rockets, sorry, Alenda, very condensed cruisers hove to next to this vessel. Those things pack a serious punch. If we unload everything they have at this rock, that's gonna open everything to to space. Bye bye any life on board," Zyan offered.

Alenda shook her head. "Overclones, at this point, could potentially survive an extended period in vacuum. We're going to need to achieve a maximally prejudicial result, ideally on as observable a basis as possible. Two hostiles about to come round the corner, Shara," Alenda said.

"On it," Shara replied.

Her pulser thrummed twice, and moments later they were stepping over the bodies of two ZSPs.

"Sorry," Alenda said. "There's no way of shutting them down while the Overlord's consciousness is still viable. Stay alert."

"Check," Shara replied.

"Okay," Zyan said. "One: overclones, nice. Two: you're after nothing heftier than gravel and iron filings left over, and measuring their size and weight?"

"Reducing this whole place to it's component _atoms_ would be better – nothing must escape. The Overlord, I am assuming, will have made contingency plans. It is not interested in defeat or death."

"In that case we get the shard out of here, and come back with a full squadron of major naval assets. We deploy in a spherical formation around this wreck and blow half the yearly munitions budget in one go. Nothing short of that is going to do the tr-"

Zyan stopped mid-sentence. They had exited via the front door, out into 'daylight'. It was a veritable slaughterhouse – a dozen or more dead ZSPs were scattered around in front of the door, and the truck-thing was on it's side on fire, to boot.

"Gods, what happened here?" Zyan asked, aghast.

Shara responded with a certain smugness. "_I_ happened here," she said.

"You really don't mess about, do you?" Zyan stated.

"I did _not_ come to play," Shara agreed.

Alenda helped herself to a pulser and some clips from the ready supply available on the ground. Zyan and Shara also grabbed a couple each. It didn't seem unlikely that there would be more fighting.

Alenda then blinked, and addressed them both. "Anna tells me that a very large vessel just entered the system. She thinks it is a military vessel."

"The _Sassinak_," Zyan said. "Great news, guys, our lift just got here ahead of schedule. I'm guessing Vadansky had no sooner translated back into Maxim space than he grassed us up to the feds."

"Be fair, we kind of asked him to," Shara said.

"They are not hailing," Alenda added. "Anna has tried to contact them, but there is no response."

"Anna's access to com systems is more than a little ropey," Zyan said.

"Why would you call up an FSP cruiser?" Shara asked, frowning.

"To make a point about the might of the FSP and force us to co-operate?" Zyan guessed.

"You don't need a massive great starship just to threaten a couple of errant guildmembers," Shara shook her head. "You need firepower like that to blast something to hell and back from a nice safe distance. Remember what Saito said to you, back on Maxim? '_Give me what I need to take Anderssen out. I'll make certain of it'. _We also know that she contacted_ someone_ via black crystal comms, but it wasn't Exigency that showed up, it was the_ Sassinak_. I don't think we should be counting on co-operation from that ship, I think we should seal our helmets and brace for impact, because destroying this ship isn't down to us anymore."

Zyan blinked. It made sense.

Alenda evidently agreed too. "I fear you are correct."

Zyan looked about, and his eyes hit on the lift. "We go up, now," he said, grabbing both of the women and herding them towards it.

Alenda looked confused. "Up? Why up? Surely we should take cover?"

There was a cargo net attached to the elevator, as a makeshift ladder. Zyan devoutly hoped that didn't mean the lift was out of commission. "No time to explain, have a look," he said, scrambling up.

He felt Alenda's presence in his mind, as she brought herself up to speed on the chilling scenario Zyan was currently envisioning.

"I see," she replied, unflustered, but added, "going up seems like a very, very good idea. I'll brief Anna - she thinks the lift is operational, but the track is damaged just before it reaches the sunstrip."

All three of them scrambled up the netting. The dead ZSP was still there, joined now by his compatriot, who had been Shara's second victim.

"Pitch them over the side," Zyan said, as he located the controls. "Less weight." The controls were simple enough – you shoved a lever in the direction you wanted the lift to go. They began to ascend, way too slowly for Zyan's liking, but gaining speed.

Alenda tilted her head to one side. "I'm not familiar with this version of the BlackTalk interface – it was still in the preliminary testing stages when I left Shankill. What does 'hide and seek mode activated' mean?" Alenda asked.

"It means that the cruiser captain read Vadansky's mail and paid a visit to my cousin before they hit the hyper limit," Zyan replied. "More practically, it means they know where we are. Could I possibly have that back?" He asked.

"Here." Alenda handed the BlackTalk unit back to him. "Also, do you mean a literal cousin?"

"I literally do," Zyan replied, as he fit the crystal back into his ear. "You're serious about the whole not reading minds thing, aren't you?"

Alenda nodded. "I don't doubt it will take serious work, but yes, I am. It's always going to be a part of me, but I have it under control now."

"Maybe I'll actually be able to beat you once or twice in the dojo, then," Shara said with a smile, as she heaved the last pirate corpse over the side. Zyan noted that she seemed far less suspicious of her friend Alenda the telepath than she had of enigmatic artificial intelligence Anna the telepath, but that was probably only to be expected.

They were already quite high up – the body fell for a while.

"As far as his cousin goes, she's called Merisa, also she's my girlfriend," Shara explained. "She's a Princess, but it's not a big deal or anything. Now that we've achieved going-upness, Zyan, can you tell those of us not sharing the other one's thoughts exactly _why_ we're doing it?"

"In a minute," Zyan said, and activated the BlackTalk unit. It advised him there was a real-time channel open to the third unit. "Saito, this is CS Jarvis, come in," he said. There was no answer. "_FSPS Sassinak_, this is CS Jar-, no, actually, this is _Commander_ Jarvis, FSP Naval Reserve, please respond."

Again, no response, even to a fellow officer. Someone had to be listening – the fact that they were choosing not to reply was a very bad indication. He pressed on anyway.

"_FSPS Sassinak_, be advised there are two repeat two condensed cruisers in-system, last known location orbit fifth planet, capabilities unknown, consider hostile. The _BX Are We There Yet_? has been compromised by a Steeplejack threat, any intel received from Brendan should be considered tainted. Guildmember Falkstrom is with us, she has an effective Steeplejack countermeasure, I say again, Guildmember Falkstrom has an effective Steeplejack countermeasure. We need to retrieve a friendly, and then require extraction ASAP. Please respond."

They did not. The lift rose higher and higher. It was still not high enough for Zyan's liking, although the 'ground' was now far below, and the sunstrip seemed closer.

"You were right, Shara. Anna has detected what she thinks is a spread of torpedoes. Impact forty eight seconds," Alenda said, then: "Oh no, they're all targeted on the stern."

Anna was very close to the stern. Zyan got back onto BlackTalk. "Abort! Saito, abort those torpedoes, shard it! _Sassinak_, there are friendlies still aboard the target vessel, abort that launch!"

Still no response.

"Shardholes," he cursed. "Abort that sharding launch, damn it! It won't be enough to be sure anyway! We have an effective countermeasure!"

He looked at Alenda. "Hate to ask this, but can you…?" He let it hang.

Alenda knew what he meant, but she shook her head. "They're too far away, I can't even sense them. Neither can Anna."

Still nothing. He closed his eyes, shook his head. "Tell Anna sorry," he said.

"She wishes us the best of luck. She doesn't seem afraid. She doesn't think your shuttle will survive, though," Alenda said. "Revised time to impact, thirty seven seconds. Anna says she can detect eight separate torpedoes. She's mobile, trying to get clear. There will be no further updates."

Zyan wondered how Anna had managed to become mobile. Evidently she'd taken his suggestion to think about escape to heart.

"Okay, seal helmets, check your rifles are safetied and sling them round your chests, move to the edge of the platform, and make sure your magboots are disengaged," Zyan instructed.

"_Disengaged?"_ Shara asked, surprised.

"You heard right," Zyan confirmed. "Same reason we're going up. When those birds hit we're gonna lose atmosphere, but that's gonna be the least of our problems."

They all sealed their helmets and moved to the edge of the lift platform, and the conversation moved over to the suit comms.

Zyan went on, quickly. "We're in a huge cylinder, spinning to create what is referred to as gravity. If the cylinder stops spinning suddenly – for example because some shardhole launches a spread of torpedoes at it, probably staggered to hit one after the other, for deep penetration – then it stops, and we lose gravity."

"So we should make sure we're attached to something!" Shara objected.

"Big nope, Shara," Zyan said. He looked up – or at least what was 'up' for the moment. They were getting near the sunstrip. Good. "Because it's not really gravity, it's centrifugal force. The cylinder stops, but anything on it _still has momentum_. It's gonna be like a reverse earthquake down there, so our best chance is to be as far off the deck as possible: slower spin equals less momentum. How long?"

"Five seconds," Alenda said. _Zyan I love you._

_I love you too,_ he answered. "Right, stand at the edge and grab onto each other. This is likely to be, well, I don't know exactly. I've never done this before. Not, I'm betting, good."

Zyan started counting down in his head. _5, 4, 3..._


	8. Chapter 8

The first warhead impacted early – Zyan only made it to three in his countdown. They felt it as a very faint tremor, transmitted upwards from the deck, through the pillar and the rail – or maybe along the sunstrip and down, who knew. The second followed precisely two seconds later, then another and another in succession.

Later analysis of the torpedo telemetry would show that it was the sixth warhead that breached the inner hull, it's destructive fury ripping open a huge, jagged hole in the habitat cylinder's rear wall. Atmosphere flooded out to join the slowly expanding debris field of rock that was all that remained of the colony vessel's stern. The seventh shot through the gap it's predecessor had made, screamed down the length of the ship in under a second, shielding vaporising as it hit atmosphere – Zyan, Alenda and Shara felt it's passing only as a pressure wave, but by then the atmosphere was tearing at them as it started to rush out of the hull – and hit one of the pillars near the bow. This damaged the sunstrip, causing it to dim to emergency levels: instant twilight. The eighth torpedo was intended to follow the seventh's path, but it went off course and instead took out the huge bearings that held up the rear axle.

The habitat cylinder came to a sudden catastrophic stop.

The three Ballybranners were quite close to the central axis. Zyan's plan had worked, so they carried over only enough momentum to give them a hard, bone-jarring shove off the side of the platform. They were immediately swept up in the gale-force wind that had been created by the energetic venting of the habitat cylinder's atmosphere. Like it or not, their destination was now open space.

Anything that had been closer to the outside edge of the habitat cylinder – which was to say almost everything – was not so fortunate.

Any object which was not bolted directly to the cylinder immediately started travelling sideways at a considerable velocity. Streams and rivers immediately burst their banks, exploding up into the air like huge, elongated fountains, snatched up immediately by the wind. Buildings were flattened, then rebounded off the surface as debris. Metal roadways flipped over, ripped themselves to bits and flew up into the screaming wind. Trees were ripped from the ground - the _ground_ was ripped from the ground.

To Alenda, Shara and Zyan, still clinging on to each other, it looked like the entire habitat cylinder floor had exploded.

"Shard _me_," Zyan breathed, awestruck, then remembered this was a crisis and he'd better act like it.

Alenda beat him to it. "Status reports, please," she asked crisply.

"Well, I'm alive," Shara replied.

"Check your suit integrity," Zyan said. "Top right corner of the readout is the summary, green is good, any other colour is, well, not so good."

It took some rearranging of hands and arms to do this while keeping hold of each other, but everyone was green. They were hurtling along, a few dozen metres from the dim, flickering sunstrip.

Their suits didn't have any maneuvering capability – they were at the mercy of the wind. With luck – a lot of luck – they would be swept out of the gap into space. With a lot more luck, they wouldn't hit the sides on the way out: Zyan could see the jagged rent in the distance, near the terminus of the sunstrip. With yet another generous serving of luck, they wouldn't smash into debris once out, and with a final, hefty dessert portion of luck, they could contact the _Sassinak_ directly at that point – Zyan darkly suspected that Saito was _not_ passing along everything she heard to the crew. For all the general disdain he held the FSP in, he knew that their military had strongly held views on friendly fire, and any spacer worth his or her salt would go out of their way to retrieve someone in distress. If they could get through to an actual FSP naval officer, their chances of survival increased.

All of that, though, hinged on one further factor: that the _Sassinak_ wasn't destroyed or disabled by the two hostiles out there.

"Anna is alive!" Alenda announced.

"Good for her," Zyan replied. "What's happening outside?"

"She doesn't know – she has no comms and no sensor access. I can barely communicate with her," Alenda reported. "She's moving up the lift shaft that you two came in on – she pressurised it before the torpedoes hit, and it still has atmosphere. It's not clear exactly how, but I think she's flying."

"She had a drone with rotors, I assume she's using that," Zyan said. "Wish her luck, tell her that her best chance is to get clear of this ship any way she can. If we live, and Saito doesn't kill us, we'll pick her up."

"Will you _please_ think positively!" Shara snapped.

Zyan had forgotten about her issues with open spaces. Her expression, through her visor, was flat and angry, probably about as close as she got to scared. Being sucked out into space was going to be pretty high on her list of nightmare scenarios.

"Sorry, Shara," Zyan said. "Deep breaths."

"And use up my sharding oxygen?" She replied.

"These suits have a rebreather," Zyan said. "If that fails, there's a ten minute emergency air supply that'll kick in automatically. Even Vadansky's cut-price tat has to meet minimum safety standards. Running out of air is not going to be an issue."

"I'd feel much better with a standard problem that can be solved with violence," Shara said, although she sounded a little calmer.

Which reminded Zyan: "Any sign of the Overlord?" He asked Alenda.

"He is in some sort of body – of exactly what nature, I cannot tell. He is blocking me even as I am blocking him. He is-"

"Look out!" Shara called, somewhat too loudly for the suit comms, and immediately reached over her shoulder for her pulser. Alenda had the presence of mind to shift her grip to Shara's waist.

Shara fired – Zyan could only hear because of the suit comms. Whatever it was, she rated it as a threat, because she emptied a clip at it. Zyan couldn't see because he was facing the wrong way and it was almost impossible to orient oneself even if one wasn't hanging onto someone else – in his case, Alenda – for dear life. There was only one candidate he could think of, though.

Then something heavy and hard slammed into him, and he lost his grip on Alenda. He went spinning away from them, and caught a glimpse of something bulky and grey also spinning away after the impact.

"Zyan!" Shara exclaimed.

Alenda was more clinical and professional, although Zyan hoped she was also as concerned.

"That was the Overlord," she reported, "in what looks like a jury-rigged exosuit, appears armoured, may be powered, definitely has manoeuvring thrusters. He is not armed that I saw, but you're both pretty far away now, closer to the sunstrip and about a hundred metres behind us. He's trying to re-acquire you, expect contact at any moment."

"I have a shot," Shara said. "Alenda, hold still."

Shara's pulser sounded over the suit comms again, several long bursts.

"Shards!" She swore. "It's almost impossible to hit anything flying along like this. I knocked him off course a bit, but his suit must be armoured, he's veering back."

"Looks like I've got a scrap on my hands then," Zyan said, trying to turn around. "Can he-, can he control me?"

"Not while I'm within a few hundred kilometres of you, no," Alenda said firmly.

"Wait_, hundreds _of kilometres_?_" Zyan found time to be surprised, in between twisting around and trying to control his orientation. "Isn't that a bit of an upgrade?"

"Indeed," Alenda confirmed. "Exactly how many hundreds I'm not sure of yet, but definitely in that range."

Shara fired again. "I'm out," she reported. "I'd have better luck shooting in a mach storm, this is eating through ammo."

"Take mine," Alenda said. "You're the best shot."

"Thanks," Shara said. "Couldn't you, y'know, scramble it's brain until it dribbles out of it's ears or make it's head explode?"

"Shara!" Zyan protested. "A little sensitivity, maybe?"

"It's got it coming," Shara said, as she fired off another burst. "Shards, missed."

"It doesn't work that way: fortunately for the Overlord," Alenda said, unfazed. "Zyan, contact in three, two-" _Do be careful! _"One."

Anderssen shot past Zyan in an angular grey suit that indeed looked jury-rigged – pirate gear, he guessed. He then swung about and made a grab for Zyan, but missed. Zyan grabbed _his_ ankle instead, and tried to pull his pulser round with his other arm, but had to abandon that to fend off Anderssen kicking at him with his other leg. They slammed into the sunstrip and bounced off.

"Zyan, are you okay?" Alenda asked.

"Yep," Zyan replied. "Bit of a deadlock, here, though," he added.

That abruptly changed when Anderssen spun in mid-air. Zyan swung round with him, Anderssen made a grab for his arm, and all of a sudden they were fighting face to face. They each had a grip on each other's arms – thankfully Anderssen's suit was unpowered, and although the not-really-a-man was prodigiously strong, Zyan had spore-enhanced strength to counter it. Zyan was free to kick at him, for all the good that would do – Anderssen's suit wouldn't allow his legs that high up, or so it seemed.

Anderssen had his faceplate retracted – this overclone had both eyes, but apart from that seemed identical. Zyan smiled grimly.

"Gonna enjoy watching you choke to death once we get sucked out into space, Anderssen!" He shouted.

"Unlike your pathetic forms, I am no longer a slave to atmosphere!" Anderssen roared back.

He didn't need to breathe. Great.

"Try and get me a clear shot!" Shara said.

"You're good, Shara, but not that good. Hold your fire," Alenda advised.

"I will crush the life out of you and make _her_ watch!" Anderssen threatened.

Zyan shouted back something extremely rude.

Saito chose this exact moment to finally break radio silence. Her voice came over BlackTalk. "Jarvis, are you all still alive?"

"Oh, _now_ you want to talk?" Zyan replied, with heavy sarcasm. "Figures. I'm a little busy right now fighting hand to hand with a sharding alien death clone but yeah, we're alive."

"No thanks to you, you ruthless sharding cowbag!" Shara added.

"Swear to me you are not compromised," Saito said. "Swear to me the countermeasure is real!"

Zyan was startled by a sudden deluge of what appeared, to all intents and purposes, to be rain – it was ground water thrown up into the air and then pulled along with it. With it were a few twigs and clumps of earth – and then a tree slammed into Anderssen and set them both to spinning.

"Whoa!" Zyan exclaimed.

"Zyan!" Alenda said.

"Watch out for flying trees!" Zyan cautioned Alenda and Shara.

"What?" Saito asked, confused.

"Fallout from your sharding torpedoes, that's what!" Zyan said. "Now listen, yes the- _shards!" _Zyan yelped as Anderssen made a concerted effort to pin his arms behind his back, but fought him off, back to their deadlock. "Yes we're not compromised and yes the countermeasure is real! Now concentrate your fire on those bloody cruisers and get a search and rescue shuttle to our position _yesterday_, we're about to be sucked out into space and if by some miracle we manage to avoid being ripped to bits by the mess of jagged wreckage you've created we'd sort of appreciate being picked up, because you blew up my bloody shuttle!"

"Both cruisers have been destroyed – they were not well-handled, they simply rammed us. We are badly damaged, weapons are down, we only have point defence capability left," Saito reported.

Zyan glared at Anderssen with hateful joy. "How long can you be out there without breathing? Gonna be fun finding out, 'cos both your rides out of town are shrapnel, shardhole."

"Then I shall simply take yours!" Anderssen roared back. "How many minds can your pale-haired saviour protect? A dozen? Two? Not, I will happily wager, an entire crew!"

_Shards_, Zyan thought. _Alenda?_ He asked.

_I do not have any hard information on that, _Alenda thought back to him.

The hole was getting closer, or rather they were getting closer to the hole.

"Saito!" Zyan subvocalised. "How accurate are the _Sassinak's _point defence clusters?"

"I'm told very," Saito replied.

"Take out a human-sized target at your current range?" Zyan asked.

Anderssen tried his pinning trick again. Zyan hadn't tired as much as the alien thought he had, though, and he managed to keep him at arm's length.

"Yes, but there's a lot of debris out there. The captain tells me that sensors are degraded," Saito reported.

They were getting very close now. Zyan could just make out Alenda and Zyan – thankfully, they looked to be on a course which would take them clear of the edges of the hole.

"What if I can paint the target?" Zyan asked.

There was a delay, then: "That will work."

"Zyan, what are you thinking?" Shara asked, sounding worried. "Are you about to do a Zyanny thing? This is not the time for a Zyanny thing!"

_Zyan, no!_ Alenda sent, as she had a quick look and divined what he was intending.

_It's not what you think_, Zyan thought back at her. "Shara, do an emergency shutdown on your BlackTalk unit now!"

"I hope you know what you're doing Zyan," Shara said, then: "Emergency shutdown now now now." After the final 'now', his BlackTalk unit confimed she was offline.

"Okay, it's off, and also I think we're in space now. Alenda?"

"Confirmed," Alenda said. _Zyan be careful!_

_Promise,_ Zyan replied. "Saito, after a ten count, lock onto the remaining active BlackTalk unit with a point defence laser and fire!"

Zyan gathered all his strength and forced his right hand and head together, straining against Anderssen's grip. He released his helmet, and it snapped instantly back against his neck, flapping there in the wind. Then he dug his BlackTalk unit out of his ear and put it in his mouth, leaned forward as if to headbutt Anderssen, but instead spat the black crystal down the side of his neck, into his suit.

"Shard you!" He swore in the alien's face, then _did_ headbutt him.

It took a superhuman effort to wrench his right arm free of Anderssen, but he managed it, just. Zyan reached over his shoulder, wrenched the pulser free, ripping it's webbing sling, and jammed it into Anderssen's suit.

"Hah! This armour is stronger than that!" Anderssen snarled.

"I'm counting on it!" Zyan shouted back, and pulled the trigger.

The impact of the rounds and the recoil combined to wrench the two of them apart. Zyan spiralled off, he didn't know where to, but he could see the Overlord similarly affected. He resealed his helmet, and then very, very suddenly he'd stopped. Zyan slammed into a hard surface, then immediately started being dragged along it by the howling gale.

He'd landed against the inner end of the habitat cylinder, and was now getting very close to a sharp, jagged edge of twisted metal. The gun was ripped from his grasp, bounced off a bent, ragged truss, and disappeared.

"Shards!" He swore, and desperately grabbed for a handhold. He got two fingers onto a protruberance, but couldn't hold on, then hurriedly re-engaged the magboots and shoved them against the surface.

_Zyan! What's happened? _Alenda asked, in his mind.

He scraped to a halt just inches from a huge blade of tortured steel, bent up by a torpedo's explosive fury.

_I landed on the inner cylinder hull. I'm in one piece. Are you okay? Is Shara freaking out? Did they get him?_ Zyan asked.

Instinct made him check his suit status, and it wasn't good - it was reporting multiple small breaches.

_Shara and I are both fine, we're floating free. I have Saito on suit comms, now. She reports that the target has been eliminated._

Zyan snorted in satisfaction. "Gotcha," he said.

He unshipped the duct tape from his tool belt and started taping up the breaches. They all seemed to be on his front – shrapnel from the pulser burst. Come to think of it, his stomach felt a bit tingly and wet: someone was going to have to go digging around in there later, in the meantime, well, the spore could earn it's keep.

_That was a gamble, Zyan, _Alenda thought at him, with a definite edge of fear.

_I know, I know, _Zyan said. _But the Overlord stays on here, couldn't risk him getting within mindsharding range of the Sassinak_.

Cuts duly sealed – or hopefully sealed, anyway – he assessed his other problems.

"Oh," he said.

The rebreather was out of action – Zyan felt over his shoulder to where it was located, and there was nothing there. His suit was telling him he had 11 minutes of emergency air.

_A search and rescue shuttle is inbound, _Alenda told him.

"Well, I'm on emergency air, so-" Zyan realised his suit comms were shot, too. Great. _I'm on emergency air, so ask them to put the pedal to the metal, please. No comms. Suit probably holed in a few places I haven't been able to patch, and the ones I have patched are patched with duct tape, which in case you couldn't guess isn't the ideal material for spacesuit repairs._

_Oh, Zyan,_ Alenda said. _I'm sorry. Sorry for what I did, sorry for dragging you all the way out here. I'm- Zyan, I can feel the Overlord again. He's in another body,_ Alenda said.

_Persistent little sharder, isn't he? Bet he's got fallback after fallback. Can you contact Anna, tell me where to go? I'll grab her and then we'll get __the hell __out of here, _Zyan sent.

Alenda's mental help was much better than Anna's mental help – she gave him a definite bearing and a distance. _That'll get you to an access airlock._

As suddenly as if a tap had been turned off, the wind stopped. _All the internal atmosphere is gone_, Zyan sent.

While he clunked across the surface of the metal, Zyan looked down the length of the habitat cylinder. It was now very dim, but huge chunks of debris could be made out, floating here and there, and there appeared to be a lot of ice crystals. Every now and again there would be a flash of something shorting out in the sunstrip, and the whole murky mess would be briefly illuminated, like lightning through thick cloud.

"Well there's something you don't see every day," Zyan said to himself, then realised he'd better save his air, and _then_ recalled being told, by an NCO back on Djiel, that it was a myth that talking used more air. He made a mental note to get some hard data on that, if he was going to be doing this sort of thing very often.

_Are you and Shara safe yet?_ Zyan asked.

_We're being picked up now,_ Alenda replied.

_Great, I'm nearly at the airlock,_ Zyan replied, which was good news since he was down to six minutes left, and it was beginning to float to the top of the list of things currently making him very nervous indeed. Still, it should be enough to grab Anna and get clear enough to be picked up by the shuttle. Then, he was looking forward to letting all this be someone else's problem: although he did admit to himself he didn't want to miss seeing this ghost ship, and it's insane master, get reduced to atoms.

_Zyan, something's wrong!_ Alenda sent. _The shuttle is empty. The cockpit is sealed off and- oh no!_ Alenda, Zyan thought, felt scared, but above all angry. _Saito is telling us she can't risk the _Sassinak_ being compromised, the shuttle is being flown back remotely, there's gas, there's, Zyan I love you!_

_Alenda! Alenda!_ Zyan sent, but he was just shouting into his own mind. _I love you too,_ he thought.

It was hardly surprising that Saito had shafted them, or rather specifically _him_. He might have made the same call, in her position, not knowing whether they were truly under Anderssen's control or not. He'd probably damned himself with the words '_Guildmember Falkstrom has an effective Steeplejack countermeasure_'. Saito knew that if she had Alenda, she had the countermeasure. Once that was accomplished, risk avoidance was the logical choice.

"Ruthless sharding cow," Zyan muttered.

Five minutes of air left. It hardly seemed like a problem that the Overlord was loose in here somewhere, and Alenda unconscious and probably already several hundred kilometres distant, unable to defend him.

Almost on queue, he felt a weak, fluttery presence in his mind, a calling out. It wasn't the Overlord, though – it was Anna, although far weaker than she'd been before. He carried on to the airlock, shone his light through the hexagonal viewport. Inside, he could see the insectile service drone from Anna's office. It was clinging on to the wall.

A sense of questioning, what now?

_You stay put, I'm coming in. You've got air in there, might aswell live a bit longer,_ Zyan thought.

He had to work the airlock door manually, but got it open. Anna's drone continued to cling to the wall, motionless, radiating a sense of worry.

Two minutes of air left. Zyan opened the inner lock, and felt atmopshere hiss in. He unsealed his helmet and took a deep breath. Fairly awful, mouldy smelling air, but air nonetheless. His suit bleeped to tell him it was refilling the emergency air tank. Yay, another eleven minutes of life.

"Hey Anna," Zyan said, after he'd taken a few more breaths. He felt odd, fuzzy-headed. Either Anderssen was trying to break into his mind, he was suffering from the early stages of oxygen deprivation, or he hadn't quite yet processed the facts surrounding just how utterly, irretrievably sharded he was.

Anna was questioning him. He didn't know the exact question, but she deserved to be brought up to speed.

"We got done over by the FSP. Story of my life, sorry it turned into yours. Shara and Alenda escaped, and we killed the Overlord – twice, because he now has an endless supply of Anderssen-shaped bodies, which means he's probably on his way to us right now looking for payback. On the _plus_ side – and I'm fully aware that there isn't much of a sharding plus side right now – the FSP is probably gonna come back in force and annihilate this wreck _properly_, so we won't suffer for long. Alenda can't help us because a total cow named Saito has tranquilised her and Shara and whipped her away out of range," Zyan said. "We're pretty much done. Sorry."

If there was any gravity, he would have sat down and put his head in his hands. As it was, he just started swearing.

There was a low whirring noise, fading away. One of the drone's legs patted him on the shoulder, then the whirring died away. Anna tried to project a sense of sympathy, but all she managed to get through to Zyan was a sense that he wasn't alone at the end.

There was a dull thump, as some large piece of debris bounced ponderously off the inner hull nearby.

His suit beeped. Eleven minutes of air again.

The drone appeared to be bereft of power. The thump knocked it loose from where it was clinging to the wall and it drifted free. Anna was reduced to a single, rectangular unit with a cracked casing, wired up to what looked like a battery and attached to the drone with a few loops of wire.

A thought occurred to Zyan. Shard it – he'd rather die doing _something_ than wait in here for whatever miserable end awaited him.

"I'm going to get out of here," he said. "Not gonna hang around waiting for the big bad wolf to come and screw with my brain. You want a lift? I've got a luxury carriage for you right here."

He shrugged his bag off, took off his jacket, and undid the wire holding Anna to the drone.

Another sense of questioning.

"Once I'm out of this passage, I've got eleven minutes of air – almost certainly less, as my suit's probably leaking. It occurs to me, though, that you aren't plagued with the weaknesses of a biological body like I am. You might hang on long enough in open space to get picked up by someone, after the dust has all settled and they're scanning every last cubic centimetre of this system to make sure they hit the target," Zyan said, as he wrapped Anna's hardware in his jacket and placed her in the backpack.

A sense of thanks. "You're welcome," he said. "Best I can manage, sorry it isn't better."

They went up and out – the shaft Anna had come up was the same Zyan and Shara had gone down earlier. It wasn't far to the original set of doors they'd come in through, only a hundred metres or so. Zyan resealed his helmet, and then had to jimmy the door open.

The stern of the ship was _gone_ – turned into a huge field of metal and rock debris. Some of this was reflecting light from the system primary, which illuminated the incongruous sight of the bodged rail car he'd rode in with Shara, it's tracks pointing up at nothing, then sheared off after what looked like a couple of hundred metres.

"Anna, I've got a crazy idea," Zyan said. "Help us put some distance between the Overlord and us." He started clumping towards the car.

There was a faint acknowledgement.

"Might aswell," he said, climbing into the car, "since, like pretty much everything else after Opal, it's the only game in town."

_Stop!_ A voice sounded in his head: Anderssen.

"It's getting awfully crowded in here," Zyan said. "Also, no."

He could feel Anderssen trying to get to him – not to extract information, this time, but to crush and dominate. His grip was weak and spidery, though. Zyan guessed he was too far away, or otherwise impaired.

"Coming up short again, Anderssen," Zyan said, then visualised a very clear picture of a very rude gesture, and pushed the lever forward.

The car hummed along the rails, gaining speed. Zyan felt the alien's presence fade from his mind. Then they were off the edge of the rails and floating free, and the stricken colony ship was growing smaller and smaller behind them.

Zyan checked his suit. Seven minutes left.

"Well, we made it," he remarked.

Anna's acknowledgement was very faint. Zyan hoped she could survive losing power. It seemed likely that the FSP would spend a lot of time and resources scanning this system in a forensic manner – she might actually be in with a cha-

He was interrupted by a sudden, familiar tingling. Not Alenda, or Anna or Anderssen, but something more more familiar.

Was that...black crystal?

_How is that possible?_ Zyan looked around, in every direction, then back at the asteroid-ship: just in time to see it obliterated.

It started faintly, which was good because it gave his suit faceplate time to darken. A perfectly straight line of light pierced the darkness of space to play, for a moment or two, against the bow of the colony ship. Then it brightened, and became blindingly bright, so that even though Zyan put his hands up to his darkened faceplate and closed his eyes, he could see it bisecting the cosmos.

Then it shut off abruply, leaving only an afterimage. The nerve-tingling impression of black crystal faded. It was a good two minutes before he could see again.

The colony ship was just...gone. There wasn't even any wreckage. Zyan checked his suit readouts: radiation was only at background levels. Whatever had happened had been incalculably powerful but also unbelievably tightly contained. Power like only a sun possessed, but as precisely employed as a surgical laser.

He only knew of one set of beings who could do that, and only one person they might have passed that knowledge on to.

He remembered Alenda's words: "Reducing this whole place to it's component _atoms_ would be better – nothing must escape."

"Holy sharding hellfire," Zyan whispered, as he realised what it was he'd just witnessed.

Anna was questioning him.

"The ship has been destroyed," he said.

The question remained: how.

"Alenda," he said.

It was over. The Overlord was dead – absolutely and truly dead, nothing could have survived _that_.

There were just the few closing moves to make, then. Zyan checked the charge on the stun pistol: he had a few hundred shots left. He would run out of air a long time before the pistol ran out of charge, even firing shots to spell out a pattern in morse code: SOS. He began, pointing the pistol ahead. Three quick shots, three wider spaced, and then three more like the first.

The minutes ticked down. He carried on firing.

"Hey, Anna? I'm sorry, but I'm not intending to be awake when I run out of air. It's no way to go, not for those of us that have to breathe for a living."

He snorted grimly, and fired off another SOS.

"When it starts getting hard to breathe, I'm cracking my helmet open and this pistol is going against my forehead," Zyan said, finding a modicum of determination in the act of saying the words. "Should be point blank enough to do the trick, even with my advantages. In the meantime, it's the closest thing to an emergency beacon we've got."

He received a mix of faint sensations in return – sorrow, anger that it had come to this, but acceptance and thanks.

"You're welcome. Sorry it was such a sharding poor escape plan. If you get out of this, even if it's like a _millenium_ before they find you and hook you up to something, do me a favour and convey how very, very disappointed I am with Exigency. They're supposed to be the elite, best-of-the-best, impossible missions a speciality. Frankly they've been shard-poor all along, and I want any of my tax credits spent on their salaries to be refunded with immediate effect."

He fired off another series of shots. Anna sent him an impression of a question, affection, Alenda.

"She knows," he replied.

_Yes_, Alenda replied, as his mind was filled with the sense of her presence, her relief and triumph that he was alive, _she very much does._

A shuttle matched velocities with the car – a big military model, all armour plating and grey paint. The troop lock opened to reveal FSP marines in exo-armour – a grappling hook was launched towards him. Zyan made it fast to a truss.

"Well look at that," he said, glancing at his suit readout as he was winched in. "Had a whole two minutes left, I was worrying about nothing."

Alenda's laughter filled his mind, and it was the sweetest sound he'd ever not heard.

\- o O o -

An awful lot had happened after Alenda and Shara were reeled in by the shuttle's winch. The executive summary went something like this.

Alenda and Shara were brought aboard the _Sassinak._ The marines who'd rigged the shuttle with anaethetic gas – already not happy about orders to gas friendlies - considered Saito's suggested dosage (calculated with the spore in mind) to be dangerously high, and had lowered it to levels they considered safer.

Alenda and Shara, therefore, awakened very shortly after being lifted onto stretchers. Shara was in favour of an instant mutiny. Alenda asked her to put that on hold for a few moments.

She immediately established her credentials as a senior member of the Heptite Guild and managed to make her way to the bridge faster than a heavily armed boarding party with overwhelming numbers. She paused only to shoot a poisonous look at Saito before demanding, and getting, access to the _Sassinak's_ black crystal comms. She didn't even need to resort to influencing the captain or crew – at that particular moment, all it took was one look at her face and hasty co-operation was assured. The communications officer immediately evacuated his seat.

She then screwed up her courage, said a last goodbye to Zyan, and did what needed to be done without hesitation.

Sentinel hadn't held anything back in her download. Alenda drew on her knowledge to channel her powers through the black crystal, out towards the system primary, and to create a precisely targeted solar flare - with a coronal mass ejection chaser, traveling far faster than a naturally occurring CME had any business going. This wiped the asteroid vessel and what was left of the _Norseman_ off the face of the galaxy. She felt the Overlord scream and die, and took a grim, dark satisfaction in it.

"I have remotely triggered a self-destruct mechanism," Alenda said in hollow, leaden words. She collapsed into the comms chair. Nobody argued, even Saito.

Linked to the black crystal, Alenda could sense everything in the system. Even through her grief, she wondered if this was how singers felt when they installed them. Probably not, she reflected. Singers could probably not feel the dying echoes of the Overlord's rage reflecting back from distant wreckage, or sense the shock and awe of everyone on the ship, or hear something else, something faint but familiar.

_When it starts getting hard to breathe, I'm cracking my helmet open and this pistol is going against my forehead._

Alenda smiled. "Not on my watch," she said to herself, getting up. "Captain Delisle, I have reason to believe CS Jarvis has survived but is critically low on air. Please prep the shuttle for immediate re-launch. I shall be accompanying the search and rescue team."

The Captain was still shocked by the destruction she'd just witnessed, and forgot to be military. "Who could survive _that?"_

"Zyan Jarvis could," Alenda replied.

"Guildmember, the debris field would make it almost impossible to scan for life signs, it would take hours, days even-" the Captain started to vacillate.

Alenda prepared to reach out and influence the Captain. It was Saito who intervened, however: she appeared to have undergone a change of heart, when faced with Alenda's cold fury. "Launch the shuttle, Captain," the agent said. "We should be absolutely certain."

Alenda was on the shuttle less than a minute later. She was able to give the pilot a precise heading – the sensors picked up stun pistiol fire a few moments later. Alenda had never felt so relieved in her life.

This was the last matter on which Captain Delisle deferred to Exigency, however. On arrival back at the _Sassinak_, everyone – including Saito – was arrested and thrown in the brig by the cruiser's CO, who had clearly run out of patience with the whole sorry affair. For Zyan there was only a very brief diversion to the medbay, to have nine pieces of shrapnel excised from of his stomach. The ship's doctor was predictably amazed at how quickly he healed, but not at all surprised that he declined an anaesthetic: Zyan surmised that heavyworlder marines had a disdain for pain relief. Shara and his military ranks didn't avail them of any sympathy at all: not even a salute.

The Captain's attitude was understandable. While there had thankfully been no fatalities among the crew of the _Sassinak_, the cruiser was still very badly damaged - expensive damage which would at some point have to be explained to an Admiral who, Zyan speculated, was not going to be very sympathetic towards whatever cover story Exigency were going to cook up to explain it. (In the end, they went with 'unscrupulous pirates attempting to use and/or monetise unknown ancient alien weapons technology, which then blew up in their faces'. The Admiral did not believe this for a nanosecond, but Delisle received a commendation nonetheless. The media helped keep things secret, or at least plausibly deniable, by generating reams of sensationalist speculation once this story was leaked, none of which came even vaguely close to the truth).

Heptite Guild IDs came equipped with the magical phrase 'access to the Session of the Federated Sentient Planets', and Shara had managed to hold onto hers, somehow. This got Zyan, Shara and Alenda out of the brig in reasonably short order, and under guard in guest quarters instead. Zyan also demanded a toolkit, a comunit, a neolithium battery and his backpack, and (with a few hints from Anna, via Alenda) was able to jury-rig a connection to provide the AI with the means to keep running and to converse.

They let Saito stay behind bars, though. Erring on the side of caution might have been tactically advisable, but when one has barely escaped being collateral damage, one is not inclined to be sympathetic to the person who made the call. Later on Alenda would tell Zyan that she had insisted the shuttle be sent out again, and that would moderate his opinion of her: but not by much.

The jammer had, somehow, survived the day's proceedings. Zyan flicked it on.

"Hey Alenda, you know I love you, right?" Zyan asked.

Alenda nodded. Now that everyone was back aboard the relative safety of a FSP cruiser, and the fireworks show was over, Alenda had become somewhat withdrawn. Zyan supposed that unleashing the destructive power of a sun with nothing but the power of your mind was the sort of thing that shook you a bit, the first time you did it.

"Good. Nothing is ever going to change that. Believe me this time?"

Alenda nodded again. They embraced.

Shara snorted. "Get a room, you two,"

"This is literally the only room we have, right now," Zyan replied. "You can see that because you're locked in it with us."

"We love you too, Shaz," was Alenda's response.

"Yeah yeah, I know, whatever. So, Lenny, did you just-?" Shara made a exploding gesture with her hands and then said, "boooooom".

Alenda nodded silently.

Shara took a moment to take that on board. Her eyes went wide, then she grinned and said: "That is _so, sharding, awesome._"

Shara, at least, didn't think there were any philosophical ramifications of her friend possessing terrifying destructive powers.

"Okay, for the record: yep, 100% agree with the 'sharding awesome' analysis. Can't see any downsides to that," Zyan said.

Alenda looked somewhat startled. "Neither of you think that what I just did was wrong?"

Shara looked genuinely confused. "You killed the bad guy and rescued the damsel in distress, what's not to like?"

"Just for the record, Anna is the damsel in this situation, right?" Zyan asked.

"Whatever helps you get through this experience, Zyan," Shara smirked.

"In all seriousness, though," Alenda said.

"Pfft," Zyan said. "We can moralise later if we want, but they let people have access to tactical directed energy weapons, what's the difference?"

"There are safeguards, procedures," Alenda objected.

"You're a lawyer, write some and then stick to it, if it makes you feel better," Shara shrugged.

"There you go. I've told you before, if anyone has to wield next-level powers, you're the one to do it," Zyan said.

Shara nodded. "Yeah, I can totally see how it might be a bad thing for _me_ to be able to incinerate huge ships with my mind, because I have just a teensy-little bit of an attitude problem sometimes and might do it just for fun."

"Might?" Zyan asked her.

"Okay, I one-hundred-percent _would_ – I am self-aware, I know myself, someone would wind me up and end up getting roasted into atoms. But Alenda?" Shara turned to her friend and squeezed her shoulder. "You'll be fine."

"I can assure you it is possible, Guildmember Falkstrom, to live with these burdens – and so far you have used your gifts far more wisely than I," Anna chipped in.

"Call me Alenda," Alenda told the AI. "Thank you, all three of you."

"No worries," Zyan grinned, but squeezed and held her hand. "So, moving on: _Lenny? Shaz?_"

"We train together, we have nicknames," Shara shrugged, then turned to Anna. "Hey, Annie, you okay in there?"

"Does literally everyone get a nickname except me?" Zyan asked.

"Yes, now shush, I'm talking to our friend," Shara said.

Alenda laughed.

"I am fine, thank you CS Ferozacorazon," Anna replied tinnily, over the comunit.

"Call me Shaz," Shara said. "You can't see right now but I'm smiling, also this is my way of saying that I no longer think you're a danger to human life that should probably be extinguished and I'm officially okay with your continued existence," she stated.

"Yes, thank you Shaz, I did understand the subtext," Anna replied. "For the first time in a long time, I am also okay with my _own_ continued existence."

"Good," Shara said, patting the AI's housing then standing up. "I'm going to go and pester the marines outside to let me use up ten days' worth of water rations for a very long shower. The blood of my enemies is an amazing look, but after a while it starts to smell bad. I plan to be doing more cavorting with your cousin in the very near future, and princesses have high standards for hygiene and presentation."

"There's a shower in here, you know," Zyan pointed out. "These are officer's quarters, rank hath it's privileges and all that."

Shara rolled her eyes. "You really aren't the brightest sometimes, Zyan," she said, then rapped insistently on the door until it was opened, and began to argue with the marines as she closed it behind her.

"Could you disconnect the comunit for a while, please Zyan?" Anna said. "I have internal processes that need seeing to, in a low-powered state, and it would help to be incommunicado for a while."

Alenda smiled. "Thank you, Anna," she said.

Zyan twigged. "You do subtle a lot better than Shara," he laughed, and disconnected the comunit as bid.

"So – my boyfriend has royal connections?" Alenda asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Tell me all about it, Prince Zyan."

"You can just look, you know," Zyan told her, indicating his head.

Alenda shook her head. "No. It is, as ever, a privilege that you esteem me so highly that you wouldn't think twice about granting such intimate access, but from now on I shall be using that capability only when strictly necessary. You have no idea, Zyan, how _liberating_ it is to finally be alone in my own head. You'll have to _tell_ me, like a normal human being, and I shall very much enjoy listening. Over a drink or two, I think. But first, although we are neither of us as covered in filth as Shara, I think that we should adjourn to the shower cubicle. Lead the way, your highness."

She smiled and stood up. Zyan was only too happy to accept the invitation.

\- o O o -

That wasn't, of course, the end of it. Even the most secret, rarefied echelons of the FSP had endless procedures and bureaucracy, it seemed.

The _Sassinak_ limped back to Maxim under partial power, and, upon arrival, Shara once again played the FSP Session Access card to gain entry to the _BX Are We There Yet?_ Saito they left to fend for herself – Zyan reckoned that a nice long protracted argument with the FSP Navy and the Maxim authorities was the very least he owed her.

Brendan was in a pretty poor state, although he was doing better than Moran. Alenda intervened – the road to recovery was a lot quicker when you had a friendly telepath to help you along it, especially one who knew what you'd been through and wasn't holding any grudges about the whole kidnapping thing. They paused in orbit only long enough for Zyan and Shara to send messages to Merisa and the Queen assuring them that everything had gone well and promising to return soon, and headed back to Ballybran – Zyan wasn't taking any chances with Alenda's symbiont, she'd already been gone too long. She didn't seem to be in imminent danger of coming down with the spore shakes, to be fair – she was back to her perfect, poised and elegant self, but having just got her back he wasn't going to muck about.

They translated out in the teeth of protests from the _Sassinak,_ or at least from Saito: Zyan got the impression that the cruiser's CO was just glad to have them off her ship. Alenda said that the Guild would be co-operating with the appropriate authorities (just which authorities were appropriate, she left very vague) but the medical welfare of herself and the two crystal singers came first.

(The Guild didn't forget about Vadansky – it just took a little longer to get around to him. A few days later he was freed from custody on Maxim a debt-free man: in return for signing a very voluminous non-disclosure agreement, which was probably even scarier than the FSP Secrets Act he was also forced to sign. Twenty thousand credits free and clear, though, went a long way towards making his disposition less sour. The Guild only put up ten, but Zyan felt guilty enough to chip in another ten himself. Shara couldn't have cared less).

Once back on Ballybran, and given the all clear by Presnol and Donalla, there was an emotional reunion between Alenda and her great-to-the-power-of-whatever uncle, grave thanks for Zyan and Shara from the Guild's ruling couple, and then a very long debriefing. This was followed by an almost equally long and serious injunction to never, ever talk to anyone about what had happened – in fact it hadn't happened, they'd just been on holiday visiting Zyan's long-lost relations on Maxim.

Not a single one of the Locusts believed a word of that, of course, but they were understanding about the gagging order. It had, after all, come from the Crystal Singer. The more spiteful and envious of the other singers, of course, gossiped about preferential treatment and shady deals, but Zyan found that he could loftily ignore them all, now.

Ussa and her partner forgot completely about the discourtesy charge, and nobody saw fit to remind them about it.

The communiques and top-secret conference calls dragged on for weeks, and all three of them were debriefed multiple times on Shankill by Moran and Saito's superiors. Alenda had to make a couple of off-world visits, but she informed him at the end of it that the Guild had, true to form, come out on top: Exigency in particular, and the FSP intelligence apparatus as a whole, owed them a very big favour.

Alenda appeared to be absolutely and completely in control of her capabilities, just as she was in absolute and complete control of every other aspect of her being. She was still a formidable negotiator and lawyer, though, and still suspiciously perceptive when it came to what people were thinking, especially if those people were Shara or Aviczue and the thinking was going on in a dojo. She always seemed to know the right thing to say and she always knew if someone was lying but, she said, it wasn't a burden anymore: it was just how she was.

"Somewhat, one supposes, like a fish. It doesn't have to _think_ about the water, the current, the ebb and flow of the tides: it just swims," she explained it.

She wasn't having people's thoughts broadcast into her brain anymore or finding them agreeing with her in uncanny ways: she was just naturally, subconsciously aware of people. She just had a good sense of what was going on in the room – or the continent, if she stopped and thought about it.

Although Zyan trusted her implicitly – he loved her without judgement, in fact – she was still a spy to her core and definitely had her secrets. She was consulting with Donalla a lot, which could only be a good thing, but she'd also started behaving in ways she hadn't before. She'd taken to wearing various bits of black crystal jewelry, for one thing. A necklace, earrings, some rings and a bracelet - it varied but she almost always had at least one item on, even when, well, even when she wasn't wearing anything else. This gave Zyan the tingles whenever she came close, but then again that had already happened anyway. This must have been phenomenally expensive, and Alenda had not before been given to overt ornamentation, but when he asked about her new direction in accessories, she would only say that she was experimenting.

One thing that had unequivocallly changed, though, was that she was very clearly much happier, much more comfortable in herself, and was completely at terms with being probably the most powerful woman in existence.

Everything, it seemed, was working out for the best.

"We've got one last thing to do, though," Alenda said. "There's going to be a meeting, on Opal. Our attendance is, I'm afraid, mandatory."

"Shara too?"

"Shara too," Alenda confirmed.

"She's been bugging me about going to see Merisa again anyway," Zyan said. "Any chance we can swing past Maxim afterwards?"

Alenda smiled. "I've already informed your aunt Sunita we'll be visiting."

Brendan took them back to Opal. Anna – still lacking, as far as Zyan was aware, any sort of official status – had remained on board. Zyan understood that she'd been helping him with his recovery: as had Alenda, when he was in Ballybran orbit, anyway. He'd been zipping about to various places, on some business or other. She joined their conversations en-route as a disembodied voice, but a stronger, more assured one than she'd been before.

Back on Opal, Sothi was politely pleased to see them again, and Klerney was positively delighted.

"Since your last visit, we've made breakthrough after breakthrough," she said. "It's never been such an exciting time here! I know you've got the hush-hush thing to go to, but catch up afterwards, okay?"

In a ceremony in front of Big Hungry, Alenda was christened Sees Clearly. Zyan's partner was usually a very reserved, self-possessed woman, but tears stood out in her eyes as she was seen and given a name.

The actual meeting took place in Sentinel's cave. The attendees were Zyan, Alenda, Shara, Saito and Moran (in environment suits) and a Brendan-drone.

Zyan had by no means forgiven Saito for her actions, even if he could understand them. Alenda counselled him to be diplomatic, though, and for her sake he remained civil and polite.

"We're just waiting for one more person," Brendan said.

"Who's that?" Zyan asked.

"Here she comes now," the drone said.

A very tall, very blonde and very hard-muscled woman entered the cave, barefoot and dressed only in a simply-cut pair of trousers and a blouse – not an environment suit, although she was carrying an appropriately oversized one, neatly folded: she must have been wearing it for appearance's sake until just then.

Zyan recognised her straight away – her face was a young version of one he'd last seen on an alien screen. "Anna?" He asked.

Anna smiled. "Hello, Zyan," she said. "Meet the new brawn of the _BA Are We There Yet?"_ She gave a twirl. "Anna Lund, entirely normal FSP citizen."

"Wow, you have a _great_ body," he said. "Wait, that didn't come out right at all. Shards, I mean that in engineering terms that is an exceptional piece of, um, no, I think I just mean 'you're looking well'," Zyan finished lamely.

Anna laughed. Shara looked ceilingwards and sighed. "We really can't take you anywhere, can we?"

"So that's what all the flitting about has been in aid of," Alenda said.

"We've been consulting various experts in various labs, not the least of whom was your own dear Clarend," Brendan said airily, "but the construction, I'm happy to say with an appropriate level of smugness, is entirely down to us. We wanted to wait until now for the big reveal."

"Are you actually in there, or is that a drone?" Zyan asked.

"I'm actually in here," Anna said, and touched her heart. "It's a bit bigger than what I had in mind, but we needed some extra internal space for the microfusion reactors, and going full valkyrie was the only way to keep me in proportion."

"You are _rocking_ the full valkyire look, Anna. Can you bench-press a tank and jump over buildings, wait, can you _fly?"_ Shara asked.

Anna grinned. "Totally," she replied.

"Shoot lasers out your eyes?" Shara pressed.

"No, but there is _this_." Anna raised her arm, palm outwards, and pointed it at some bare rock. There was a buzz, and a stun bolt shot out to fizzle into the ground.

Shara's eyes widened. "You are _so_ unbelievably hot right now," she said.

"Shara!" Zyan said.

"Oh, come on. Tell me that isn't cool," Shara replied.

"You didn't say _cool_, though, did you? You said _hot_," Zyan reminded her. "That's a little less than appropriate."

"So? Sue me, grandad," Shara snorted.

Anna smiled. "I am glad to be so well regarded by a friend."

"Are you still, y'know, psychic?" Zyan asked.

"I am the psionic bionic woman," Anna replied, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Also known as She Who Survives," Sentinel added. "It seemed a fitting name."

"We should get started," Saito said.

"I suppose so. Hey, Moran, how's your head?" Zyan asked.

"They tell me I'm healed," Moran replied, somewhat stiffly, then: "I'm sorry I shot you."

"In the back," Zyan said.

"Yes, in the back. Sorry," Moran repeated.

"It really hurt," Zyan added.

"No it didn't, stop winding him up," Shara put in.

"Okay, _fine,"_ Zyan relented. "Apology accepted, you weren't yourself. In related news, have _you_ got anything to say to me, Saito?"

"Zyan," Alenda said, warningly.

Saito held up a hand. "It is fine, Guildmember Falkstrom. Zyan – and Anna – I am truly sorry. I wish I'd never had to make that decision. If I had better information at the time I would have decided differently. But as for how I feel about it, ask Sentinel what the Junks called me."

Zyan looked up towards Sentinel's shimmering form, and raised an eyebrow.

"Does What Is Needed," Sentinel replied.

Zyan supposed that answered that. "Okay, Saito, I read you loud and clear. No hard feelings, I suppose. Why are we here?"

"Welcome," Saito said, by way of answer, "to the first – and hopefully only – meeting of the Steeplejack Task Force. If a Steeplejack situation is declared, you will be activated, but only in those circumstances."

"Yeah, right, like Alenda ever _left_ FSP Intelligence," Shara snorted. "On the other hand it does sound quite mysterious and cool, so I'm in. Do we get paid?"

"You do not get paid," Saito answered.

"I am not okay with that," Shara replied. "I may not be in anymore."

"This is very important to FSP security," Moran said. "You're needed."

Zyan snorted. "Needed for opportunities such as travelling to interesting new worlds to trade pulser fire with interesting new people," he said sarcastically.

"Oh! In that case I'm definitely back in," Shara replied readily.

"I hasten to remind you will _only_ be activated if the Steeplejack Protocol is invoked," Saito said.

"Yeah, right," Zyan said. "Various bits of the FSP seem to keep coming up with little jobs that require a Guildmember or two to go and do something weird somewhere weird, that's not likely to stop any time soon, is it?"

Saito gave a slight shrug. "I cannot speak for the rest of the FSP, and it is up to your Guildmaster to decide who he will task with any off-world assignments."

"Whatever," Zyan said.

_Stop being such a shardster, Zyan_, Alenda sent privately. _You don't have to like the woman, but I really need your help on this._

"But fine, I'm in," he added.

"Good," Saito said coldly. "Everyone here is aware of what we just narrowly defeated. Everyone here brings a valuable skill to the table. If the Steeplejack Protocol is invoked, you'll be contacted by Guildmember Falkstrom."

"Why not you?" Zyan asked.

"Two reasons," Saito replied. "Unlike everyone else in this chamber, we have only a normal human lifespan. Guildmember Falkstrom will be around long after Moran and I are dead, and she is, as I have told at least one of you but I suspect actually two," she shot a look at Zyan and Shara, "a legend in this business. That is the first reason."

"The second," Moran said, "is that as of this moment, the only beings in the entire FSP who know about the Steeplejack Protocol are standing in this chamber. When we are finished, Guildmember Falkstrom will – with our full consent – replace both mine and Saito's memories of the incident with the official version, and repress any knowledge that the Steeplejack Protocol ever existed."

"Wait, what?" Zyan was startled. "Why would you-?"

"Because I've got a head full of memories I _do not want_," Moran replied. "I wake up sweating every night, remembering what that sharding alien did to me. I can't look at my wife and kids without wondering if I could be made to hurt them too, I-" He stopped, and brought himself under control. "In my case, Alenda'll be doing me a favour."

"Also, we learn from our mistakes at Exigency," Saito said. "The Overlord found Guildmember Falkstrom by hijacking the protocol. If he had been more perspicacious, he would have realised he'd been handed the location of the Junks, too, who have similar capabilities. He could have neutralised them both."

"He would have been welcome to _try_," Sentinel interjected ominously, her patterns turning momentarily dark and sombre.

"If there is no official protocol, then the _next_ Steeplejack threat won't be able to do the same thing," Saito said. "You will be able to act against it in complete secrecy. This is the only logical course of action."

"You really _do_ do what's needed," Zyan said, with more respect. "What about your superiors?"

"Already dealt with," Saito said. "Everyone involved was agreed that this was the logical course of action."

Ah – Alenda's off-planet trips, Zyan recalled. She'd been mind wiping Exigency agents.

"And if we need your help, we have to persuade you to believe us?" Shara asked.

"In Guildmember Falkstrom, Miss Lund and Sentinel's cases, that will not even present a trivial barrier," Saito replied. "However, we have taken the precaution of making recordings, with the appropriate clearance codes, which will be made available to you. If you need to secure our co-operation and bring us up to speed, show them to us."

Everyone nodded.

"Are you sure?" Alenda asked Saito and Moran in turn.

They both nodded.

"Anna, you'd better get back into your environment suit, for appearance's sake," Alenda advised.

Anna stepped back into the transparent suit.

"Hey, Saito, Moran," Zyan said. "You're alright."

"We'll still know who you are, CS Jarvis," Saito said. "Most things that happened will still have happened, for us – we shall just remember the pirate version of the story, rather than the true account."

"Nevertheless, what you're doing takes integrity and guts," Zyan told her.

"Thank you," Saito said, then turned to Alenda. "We are ready. Will this take long?"

Alenda smiled at Saito in a slightly puzzled fashion. "I'm sorry, Agent Saito, what was that?"

Saito didn't even blink. "I wish to once again convery the apologies of the Director that the Guild, Opal and the _BA Are We There Yet?_ were dragged into this affair."

Alenda maintained her smile. "No need, Agent Saito. We were happy to be of assistance."

"Then we shall leave you. Good day," Saito said. Moran repeated it, and then they both walked out.

"Whoa," Zyan said, after they were out of earshot. "So just like that, then?"

"Just like that," Alenda answered, "Let us hope that I never have need of those skills again."

And so the thoroughly unofficial Steeplejack Task Force was created. The mobile members of the STF stayed on Opal for a little longer, Zyan and Shara caught up with Klerney, and then everyone carried on to Maxim for - this time - a normal holiday. His aunt and cousin were delighted to see him again, and although Shara decided to stay a _little_ longer, Brendan and Anna conveyed Zyan and Alenda back to Ballybran a few days later.

After that, it was back to being a normal crystal singer for Zyan and, a few weeks after that, Shara too. Zyan made an extra special point of always wearing his gloves, always packing straight away, and following Donalla's recommendations to the letter: he had someone very special to get back to, after all, and he didn't want to risk forgetting a moment of his time with Alenda. The Locusts continued to rack up credits – they made enough, in fact, that they took the very un-crystal-singerish step of making some off-world investments, the income from which was enough to give them a comfortable living even if all of their claims were to be destroyed overnight. The Guildmaster did convey his wish that they keep busy, however. They might not need money, but the Guild needed crystal.

Zyan was prospecting on the southern continent with Q'Tonisa, Marin and Aviczue when the _That'll Do_ blared out the alert that signified a communication from the Guild Cube. Zyan activated his wrist unit, which was filled with his girlfriend's perfect features.

"Hey, Alenda, what's up?" He asked, smiling.

"Hello dear. Uncle Lars would like to see us at our earliest convenience," Alenda reported. "There's a little job that requires a Guildmember or two to go and do something weird somewhere weird. Would you care for a little off-world jaunt?"

Zyan grinned. "I'm on my way."


End file.
